


Into Darkness and Howling I'll Keep You From Drowning

by whisperedstory



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Past Torture, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: Be patient with Jaskier. Gentle.It's become his mantra over the past few months, something he's reminded himself of every time he feels like he isn't doing enough, that Jaskier isn't getting better quickly enough.———After they've rescued Jaskier from Nilfgaard and Yennefer has healed his physical injuries, Geralt takes him to the safest place he knows—Kaer Morhen. It's a long road to recovery, for both of them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 83
Kudos: 817





	Into Darkness and Howling I'll Keep You From Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) <3
> 
> Title (though slightly altered) from the song King by The Amazing Devil.

Jaskier is sitting in front of the hearth when Geralt returns to their room, two bowls of stew in his hands. Jaskier has taken his cloak off, left it hanging over the back of a chair, where it's dripping clumps of wet, melting snow onto the ground. He's still wearing the rest of his clothes, damp and no doubt cold.

"Told you to get undressed," Geralt grumbles, but his tone is gentle. He puts their food down and goes to kneel by Jaskier's side. "Come on, Jask. Don't want to get sick, do you?"

Jaskier looks at him, skin impossibly pale, mouth pressed into a tight line. He's shivering, wet hair hanging down into his face. He looks apathetic, and worry claws at Geralt's stomach. 

It hasn't been a good day—following a miserable night where Jaskier woke up from nightmares every time he dozed off—and the freezing rain only made it more miserable.

Geralt reaches for Jaskier and it feels like a small victory when Jaskier doesn't flinch at his touch. He does that now, sometimes, when he's having a particularly bad day or gets lost in memories. Geralt misses being able to touch Jaskier freely, didn't realize until recently how much he'd started taking it for granted. Not just when they fucked; but even a nudge in the side, or a simple slap on the back, or a hand on Jaskier's elbow to steer him away from trouble.

Geralt undoes his doublet and starts stripping Jaskier out of it, and after a while Jaskier starts helping some, lifting his arms and hips when Geralt nudges, letting Geralt take off his clothes. His skin is cold to the touch and he holds himself stiffly, no doubt in pain now that he's warming up. Geralt grabs the blankets from the bed and wraps Jaskier in them before he fetches their food. The 'stew' the barmaid gave him is really just a broth with a bit of meat and a few pieces of carrot swimming around in it, but there's bread too, enough to fill their stomachs. 

"Eat," he orders. "I'll join you in a moment."

He sneaks glances at Jaskier, continually checking on him, as he starts taking off his armor and damp clothes, changing into a dry pair of smallclothes and a loose tunic. Jaskier is eating some of the soupy stew, but he's only nibbling at the bread and Geralt's unease grows. 

He's put some weight back on since Geralt and Yennefer got him out of Nilfgaard's clutches, but he still looks too skinny. His cheekbones are sharper, his frame more narrow and Geralt hates how clearly he can feel Jaskier's ribs under his palms when he touches him. Geralt tries his best to ply him with food, and sometimes it's accepted, sometimes it's not.

Yennefer might have healed Jaskier's physical wounds, but his mental ones are taking him a lot longer to recover from. Geralt knows this, understands this, but sometimes it still makes him want to scream, want to scour the Continent until he's found every single Nilfgaardian soldier and ripped them apart. Guilt eats at his stomach for not preventing this. It's his fault that Jaskier was captured and tortured. Because they wanted to find Geralt. Because Geralt sent Jaskier away on the mountain and wasn't around to protect him. Because Geralt allowed Jaskier to be a part of his life in the first place; there's a reason witchers walk the Path in solitude. 

"Eat a bit more," he coaxes as he sits back down by Jaskier's side.

"Not really hungry," Jaskier mutters. He draws his knees closer to his chest and rests his cheek on top, face turned towards Geralt. 

He's still too pale, still looking miserable. Geralt wants to tell him that more food in his belly would probably make him feel better and that he needs sustenance for the trek up to Kaer Morhen, but he has learned to pick his battles with Jaskier these days. He was much more adamant about getting him to eat more when they were still at Yennefer's and it never worked. Jaskier either got quiet and sullen, refusing to look, much less talk to Geralt, or they'd end up in a screaming match. Now, Geralt just offers, coaxes, and hopes Jaskier will make the decision to eat.

"You have to be patient with him," Yennefer told him, over and over, every time Geralt got frustrated, feeling helpless because he didn't know what to do, how to fix this. There were so many times when he wanted to scream or break something, when he felt like they weren't helping Jaskier enough, and it was only Yennefer's steadfast presence that calmed him down. _Be patient with Jaskier. Gentle._ It's become his mantra over the past few months, something he's reminded himself of every time he feels like he isn't doing enough, that Jaskier isn't getting better quickly enough. It's been an uphill battle.

He'd never thought he'd see the day where Yen, of all people, would be the one in Jaskier's corner. But she's changed. All three of them have. And seeing Jaskier strung up in a dungeon, frail and bloody and broken, had made Yennefer not only livid, but protective of Jaskier. Underneath all the bickering and insults Geralt knows they both hold respect for each other.

Geralt wishes she was with them now, as well as Ciri. But they all agreed that Yennefer would keep Ciri for the winter and keep training her, and Geralt would take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen to rest and recover, so they could both get the attention they needed right now. Divide and conquer. So neither he nor Yennefer would lose sight of what their priority needed to be. They've made plans for Yennefer and Ciri to join them at Kaer Morhen at the first melt of the snow, to spend at least the first part of spring together at the keep, or longer if necessary.

"I'm tired," Jaskier says, his voice quiet. 

Geralt hums. "Go to bed then," he says kindly. 

Jaskier sighs and sits up. He tugs at the blankets around him, biting down on his bottom lip. "Are you going to come to bed soon, too?" he asks. He sounds nervous, almost anxious.

They started sharing a bed at Yennefer's, back when Jaskier had nightmares every night and would wake up either crying or screaming. Having Geralt there with him seemed to help and it's become a habit Geralt isn't eager to break. He is happy to do it and he sleeps better with Jaskier curled up against him too, even though he'd never admit to it. They've shared beds and his bedroll plenty of times before, to save money or during cold nights or to blow off some steam together. These days, Geralt can barely imagine getting any rest if Jaskier isn't close by and Geralt knows he's safe and hale. 

"I'll finish dinner and then I'll join you," he says.

"Good," Jaskier murmurs and smiles softly. "Yeah. Good."

Geralt grunts in agreement. He watches surreptitiously as Jaskier gets up, looking a bit unsteady, and heads for the bed. He doesn't put on clothing, just flops right down onto the bed as he is, wrapped in his blankets, and adjusts the fabric around him to his satisfaction. Geralt forces himself not to scarf down his food, ignoring the eagerness he feels to join Jaskier. The short distance between them feels like too much right now. 

When he's done, he puts his empty bowl and Jaskier's half-full one down on the table and stores Jaskier's almost untouched bread in his pack. Jaskier blinks at him with half-lidded eyes as he approaches the bed, the blankets drawn up to his nose.

"Still cold?" Geralt asks.

"A bit," Jaskier admits.

Geralt nods and sheds the few articles of clothing he's wearing. "Body heat," he explains awkwardly, though it's hardly necessary. They've seen each other naked countless times, have shared baths and beds. There probably isn't a part of Geralt's body that Jaskier hasn't touched both during sex and while patching up wounds and tending to bruises. 

Geralt has now been returning the favor of taking care of Jaskier after all these years, helping Jaskier bathe, tending to wounds that needed more than a quick fix from Yennefer, helping Jaskier relieve himself those first few days where he was so weak he couldn't even make it out of bed.

Jaskier had let him with less reluctance than Geralt expected, though sometimes his cheeks were stained pink from embarrassment or frustration.

Jaskier unwraps himself from the blankets a little, freeing the fabric so Geralt can slide underneath. He curls up against Geralt before he's even fully settled down and Geralt slips an arm around him, draws him close. He doesn't feel cold, but he doesn't feel warm either, and Geralt rubs a hand up and down his back. Wrapped up in each other, both of them naked, Geralt tries not to let his thoughts stray to all the wrong places, tries not let his body be affected. This isn't the right time; Geralt doesn't know if it ever will be again, but he hopes so.

"Get some sleep," he murmurs, and feels Jaskier nod against his collarbone. 

*

It's no longer snowing and the sun is shining the next morning. By the time they leave the inn, it's warmed up enough that the snow on the ground has started turning to mush, making everything slick.

Geralt pulls Jaskier up onto Roach with him, arms wrapped securely around him as they ride out of town. While the weather is much milder today, he still worries about how they'll make it to the keep. There'll be more snow in the mountains, and even if it gets warm enough for it to start melting, if the trail will be covered in slippery slush like this it'll make the trek all the trickier.

He silently curses himself for not setting out a lot sooner. Winter is setting in early this year and it's going to put Jaskier in danger, especially now that he is weak after months of recovering, and a few pounds lighter than he used to be. The path up to the keep would take a toll on him on the best of days and Geralt worries about what it'll do to him this year, in this shape and with this weather.

Geralt leans in and brushes his nose against Jaskier's throat, nuzzling his neck, once they're out of town, seeking reassurance. Jaskier is fine, in much better spirits today than he was the day before, relaxed and seemingly content in the circle of Geralt's arms. They're going to be alright, Geralt silently tells himself. He'll do everything he can to make sure Jaskier will make it to Kaer Morhen sound and healthy, and then they'll have the entire winter for Jaskier to get better. As safe as he was at Yennefer's place, Jaskier never fully relaxed, never fully felt at ease. Geralt knows he'll feel better at Kaer Morhen, knows he'll feel safe there. The keep is secluded, far out of Nilfgaard's reach, and he hopes the familiarity of the keep will help as well. He took Jaskier once, two winters ago, and he knows Jaskier felt right at home.

It's the best place for them to be. For Jaskier, as well as Geralt. He will finally be able to stop worrying about outside threats. Ciri is safe with Yen, and Jaskier will be safe at Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier squeezes his arm, as if he can hear the worries running through Geralt's head and wants to reassure him. Geralt lets out a quiet rumble and shifts Jaskier a little in his arms, holding him tighter against his body.

*

"Eskel and Lambert are here," Geralt says. His hand is resting on Jaskier's back, a common occurrence these days whenever they're in a town. Jaskier still gets a little nervous around too many people, eyes flitting around, looking for threats.

They're in the last town Geralt plans to stop in before they head up to Kaer Morhen. There's another little hamlet closer to the mountains, a few scattered farms, but nowhere else for them to get all the supplies they need. 

"Where?" Jaskier asks.

Geralt nods up the street, at the two figures in the distance. 

Jaskier makes a humming sound and keeps his pace at Geralt's side. Geralt doesn't remove his hand from his back, ignoring the glances they're getting from the people they pass by. This close to Kaer Morhen, the people are used to the occasional witcher passing through town and they're treated better here than in a lot of other places, but three witchers all at once is going to draw attention, especially when one is traveling with a bard pressed against his side.

Still, Geralt is glad Eskel and Lambert are here. It'll make the trek up the mountain a lot easier, leave Geralt free to look after Jaskier while Eskel and Lambert can stay on the lookout for any outside danger.

"Geralt! Jaskier!" Lambert calls when they get closer. 

Jaskier shifts closer, just for a moment, before Geralt hears him take a deep breath. Like he has to steel himself to face Eskel and Lambert, people he knows, people he considered friends within a few minutes of first meeting them. When Geralt looks at him, the smile on Jaskier's face seems forced.

"Okay?" Geralt asks in a quiet murmur.

"Of course," Jaskier says. 

Geralt gives a curt nod and doesn't prod. When he turns his attention back to Eskel and Lambert, he finds both of them have stopped a short distance away, watching them with curious expressions. Geralt isn't surprised. There's no fooling them, not with the way Jaskier is sticking to his side, the slightly anxious energy he gives off. Not with the way Jaskier looks, skinnier than when they last saw him two winters ago, and with none of his usual spark. 

"Eskel, Lambert. Good to see you," Jaskier greets, but he doesn't step forward to hug them. 

Eskel furrows his brow. "Is everything okay?" 

"Not here," Jaskier says before Geralt can reply. He looks at him, blue eyes wide and beseeching. "Please?"

Geralt nods. "Let's find an inn," he says. "Do you two have rooms somewhere yet?"

"The Golden Spike," Eskel says. 

Geralt hums. The tavern that belongs to the inn tends to be a little more crowded than he would have prefered, but the food is decent and the rooms are cozy and warm. "Let's go," he says.

They get a room and Jaskier asks for a bath to be brought up, before they leave Eskel and Lambert in the tavern to go get settled in. In their room, Jaskier stops in the middle of the small space, wringing his hands together. "Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind going downstairs without me, while I take a bath?"

The words surprise Geralt, but he quickly recovers. "You want some privacy," he surmises.

Jaskier snorts. "No. No, it's not that. Gods know there's no privacy left between us," he says, his lips quirked up in a small wry smile. "I don't want to rehash what happened to me. I'm tired of even thinking about it. So, perhaps you could go downstairs and tell them. Have an ale, catch up while you're at it. I'm sure… well, I'm sure there are some things you would rather tell them without me being around."

"Jaskier," Geralt starts, and Jaskier shakes his head.

"I'm well aware that I'm a bit of a mess right now. That you pick what you say and do very carefully around me," he says plainly. "And it is much appreciated, my friend. But perhaps not always the most practical." 

Geralt nods. "Alright, if that is what you want," he agrees. "I'll wait until the bathwater has been brought up. You will lock the door behind me, alright?"

"Of course," Jaskier says. "Thank you, Geralt."

Geralt grunts in reply, not quite pleased with the idea of leaving Jaskier on his own in an inn, but he should be reasonably safe in their room and Geralt won't be far away.

"Will you be joining us after your bath?" Geralt asks. "Or do you want me to bring you some food?"

Jaskier rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on the soft, pink flesh and Geralt lets his eyes linger on the sight for just a moment. "I'll join you," Jaskier decides.

He waits in their room, busying himself with taking off his armor, until two young women come to drag in a wooden tub and then buckets of hot water. Once they're gone again, Geralt goes to his saddlebags and retrieves his sharpest dagger and puts it down next to the tub.

"Just in case," he says, and turns to look at Jaskier, finding him smiling softly.

"Thank you, dear," Jaskier says and steps closer, right into Geralt's space and Geralt knows he's silently seeking contact. Jaskier has always been a tactile person and now his only source of physical contact is Geralt, and Geralt finds himself not minding the new level of affection between them. Before, it was always Jaskier who initiated touch, even when their relationship grew more intimate. Now, Geralt has become better at reciprocating, giving Jaskier what he knows he needs, and he finds himself needing it just as much, the feel of Jaskier's skin under his hands, warm and solid, reassuring him that Jaskier is alive, is with him. 

Geralt brings his hand up, lets his fingers briefly brush over Jaskier's cheek. There's some rough stubble there, rasping against the pads of his fingers, and he smiles. Jaskier returns it and catches Geralt's wrist in his hand, keeps it pressed against his cheek. He turns his head and brushes his lips against the inside of Geralt's wrist in the barest hint of a kiss. 

"What would I do without you, hmm?" Jaskier murmurs.

Geralt remains silent and Jaskier sighs and kisses his wrist again. 

"Go join your brothers," he says. "I will be with you shortly."

"I'll hear you if you scream," Geralt says, and Jaskier takes a step back, snorting.

"I hope you're aware of how weird that sounds, darling," he says. "But I appreciate it nonetheless." 

Geralt smiles wryly and nods. "And remember. Stab first, as questions later," he says, only slightly humorous.

This time Jaskier's grin is real, genuine, and it makes Geralt's insides squirm with pride. "It used to be, _Jaskier, don't stab people_."

Geralt catches Jaskier's chin between his thumb and forefinger, holds it gently. "Hmm. Things change. Now it's: Jaskier, stab anyone who gets close to you."

"Except my witcher," Jaskier adds.

Geralt hums and he can't resist leaning in, placing a small, chaste kiss to Jaskier's lips. "Enjoy your bath, bard," he murmurs, before he turns to leave.

It's not the first kiss they've shared since he and Yen found Jaskier. Jaskier kissed him once, sloppy and needy and desperate, his body still shaking from the nightmare Geralt had woken him up from. He'd burst into tears after, burying his face in the crook of Geralt's neck, and Geralt had held him until he calmed down and they hadn't spoken about it afterward. 

Thinking about it now reminds Geralt of how far Jaskier has truly come since, even if he doesn't always see it. He's better, healthier, he's healing. And maybe they can fix that part of their relationship too, can finally get it right after all these years. He would like to go back to how things used to be between them, when they shared beds and bedrolls for more than warmth and comfort, when they spent entire nights keeping each other awake, taking pleasure in each other, except this time without the entanglement of Yennefer. This time, he wants to be able to give Jaskier more than he did before, ready to admit that what they share is more than casual sex and companionship. 

He knows that's what Jaskier wanted from him before, even if they never talked about it, and he thinks— _hopes_ —Jaskier's feelings haven't changed. But it's complicated now. There's so many other things weighing on their relationship now—Jaskier's mental state, the fight on the mountain, Geralt's role in everything that happened to Jaskier after. He already apologized for the mountain, for taking his anger out on Jaskier that day. He apologized so many times he lost count, until Jaskier told him he didn't want to hear another apology ever again. Geralt still feels guilty, knows how different things would be now if they had never parted on top of that mountain. Regret weighs heavy on him, but there's nothing he can do about it now other than trying to do better by Jaskier now.

Geralt finds Eskel and Lambert down in the tavern, sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, as private as it gets in a public space, but still within sight of the stairs leading up to the second floor where the rooms are. Geralt is glad for it, so he can keep an eye on who goes upstairs as well as see Jaskier when he comes down.

Geralt gets an ale at the bar and joins the others. He empties half the tankard in one go, needing the drink before he's ready to talk.

"Geralt," Eskel says. "What the fuck is going on? You two look like shit, Jaskier more so than you." 

Geralt takes a deep breath and nods. He keeps his voice low when he speaks, keeps a careful eye on their surroundings. "Nilfgaard got to him."

"What the fuck did they want with Jaskier?" Lambert asks, his voice a deep growl.

"What do you think? They wanted to know where I was, to find Ciri," Geralt says. "They thought Jaskier would know something. He didn't tell them a single thing, the fool, so they kept torturing him."

"Shit," Eskel says. "How long did they have him? How bad was it?"

"Almost a fortnight, we believe. Hard to tell," Geralt says. "And pretty bad. Yen and I found him. She healed most of the physical wounds and he was laid up for a while." 

"Ciri is with Yen?" Eskel asks softly.

Geralt nods. "We thought it best to split up for the winter. Things were a little tense," he admits. "Ciri felt like she was to blame because Nilfgaard wants her. Jaskier was getting antsy. I was…"

"Blaming yourself as well," Eskel guesses.

"I left him," Geralt snaps and then deflates and runs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling like he hasn't slept in months. He barely has. "I wasn't there to protect him. I was too busy wallowing in my misery, blaming him for things he had no control over. I should have stayed with him." 

"Yeah, poor you," Lambert snarks. "You messed up. You're going to blame yourself and torture yourself and what good will that fucking do, Geralt?"

"Lambert," Eskel mutters.

"What? It happened, there's nothing that can be done to change that, so what's the point?" Lambert asks bluntly. "What matters right now is fixing his fucking bard."

"He's not _my_ bard," Geralt repeats with a huff.

Lambert snorts. "Oh please, don't even bother trying to deny it, you prick. We know how you feel about him. Fuck, you brought the annyoing little shit to Kaer Morhen, Geralt. He's part of the pack now. And he's fucking yours."

A smile tugs at Geralt's lips. 

"So, how is he doing? Really?" Eskel prods.

Geralt shrugs. "Better. Not good," he says. "Some days he seems almost fine, others he gets quiet and sullen and moody."

"Hmm. That's to be expected."

Geralt nods and takes another long pull from his ale. "He just needs more time. People make him nervous, sometimes. And Kaer Morhen is as far away from Nilfgaard as I can get him," he says. 

"He needs to eat more," Lambert adds. "He looks skinny."

"We're working on that," Geralt grunts. 

"Look. Sounds like what he needs is just a pretty normal winter at the keep," Eskel chimes in. "Food, sleep, quiet. The trail's going to be a bit difficult this year for him, but we'll get him to Kaer Morhen and then _both of you_ can relax."

"Thank you," Geralt says and nods at the tankards around the table. "Let me get another round." 

They're on their third round and there's food on the table as well by the time Jaskier makes it downstairs. He holds himself tensely as he makes his way through the room to their table, picking a path that lets him avoid getting too close to anyone. Geralt watches him closely, but notes with satisfaction that Jaskier has his dagger strapped to his hip.

He sits down next to Geralt, scooting close, and Geralt feels the warmth of his skin seep through the layers of their clothes and smells the scent of lavender soap on Jaskier's still damp hair. 

"Good bath?" he murmurs, and what he means to ask is if Jaskier did okay on his own.

"Yes," Jaskier replies and Geralt hums, content. He nudges his tankard over to Jaskier and nods at the platters of food. Jaskier leans closer into him before he reaches for the ale, and Geralt ignores the pointed, knowing looks from both Eskel and Lambert. Jaskier needs this, this closeness, and Geralt does as well, and he's not going to deny either of them what they need any longer.

*

"I can't remember the trail being this shit the last time you took me to Kaer Morhen," Jaskier says, shivering. He's sitting between Geralt's legs, bundled up in his cloak, Geralt's wrapped around both of them. The fire they've got going is rather pitiful, most of the wood close by too wet to use. If the thick, wet flakes of snow that started coming down midmorning and haven't ceased since get any heavier, Geralt guesses the fire will be a complete loss despite the meager shelter the trees are offering them. 

"Hmm."

"What?" Jaskier asks and cranes his neck back to peer at Geralt. Geralt nuzzles his hairline, breathing in the slightly ripe scent of Jaskier. They're a day or two out of Kaer Morhen, but it has been a long and miserable trek, exhausting for all of them, especially Jaskier. 

Geralt hopes Lambert and Eskel have luck hunting dinner, so they can at least refuel a little before another long day tomorrow.

"Weather's worse this year," Geralt says and pauses. His hand slips down to Jaskier's waist, stroking him through his cloak and clothes. "You'd feel the cold less if you had a bit more meat on your bones." 

Jaskier stiffens at the words.

Geralt sighs. "Jask," he says. "Just pointing out facts." 

"Yes, well. Thank you, but I know this. I'm not stupid, Geralt," Jaskier snips.

"I didn't say you were."

Jaskier doesn't reply for a while, holding himself tensely in Geralt's arms. "Sometimes it feels like the only thing I can control," he says. 

"Hmm."

"They didn't give me food some days at all. And then when they did, it was barely enough and my stomach was cramping so much I would have eaten anything," Jaskier continues. "Now I can refuse food because it's my choice. I won't starve if I do. Sometimes… sometimes that feels like something I need to do, just to prove to myself that I'm not there anymore. I know it's ridiculous."

"It's not," Geralt says, though he doesn't _quite_ understand.

"I don't mean to worry you," Jaskier says and sighs. "I don't want to be a burden. But I always am, aren't I?"

"You're not," Geralt denies, rubbing a hand up and down Jaskier's side. He hears a quiet sniffle from Jaskier. 

"I'm sorry. I'm cold and exhausted and it's messing with my head," Jaskier says, voice wet. Geralt hums quietly. 

"Just a couple more days," he says.

"Ah, yes," Jaskier says with another sniffle. "And then we'll be at Kaer Morhen. The magical place that will fix everything."

"That's not…" Geralt starts and stops. "I don't know what else to do."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that, I'm just in a mood," Jaskier soothes and tips his head back, looking at Geralt with watery eyes. "You're already doing more than enough, dear heart. I hope you know that."

Geralt grunts. Not a no, not a yes. He's _trying_. Trying to be there for Jaskier, to be what he needs. To talk more, to show he cares, to make sure Jaskier knows he's safe. He's not sure he's doing enough.

Jaskier sighs and shifts, leaning his forehead against Geralt's jaw. "You're the best man I know, Geralt. Angry outbursts on mountaintops aside," he says. "I know you can be an ass and a grump. And I can be an annoying little shit. But when I really needed you, you never failed me."

"I did this time."

"No. No, you didn't," Jaskier says. "You can't prevent awful things from happening to people. But you got me out, you and Yen. And you're here now. Making it better. I'm a little messed up, but I'll be fine." 

Geralt nods in reply. That's all he wants, for Jaskier to be okay. He turns his head a little, lets his nose brush against Jaskier's hairline. 

"Geralt?"

"Hmm?"

Jaskier lifts his head. "At the inn. When you kissed me," he starts.

"Yeah?" Geralt says.

"I quite liked that," Jaskier says, smiling a little. Not shyly. Because he's never shy. But he doesn't look sure of himself and Jaskier is rarely insecure, especially when it comes to things like this. 

"Liked it too," Geralt replies curtly, not sure how to tell Jaskier just _how_ much he liked it. How much he wants him. 

Jaskier's smile grows a little easier. "I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

Geralt hums and curls his hand around Jaskier's jaw, cradling it as he leans in. He brushes their lips together, chaste and soft, and when he draws back, Jaskier has his eyes closed. Geralt sighs and leans back in, presses another kiss to Jaskier's lips and then another, until there's nothing chaste about the kiss anymore, even though it remains soft, languid. 

When they break apart, Jaskier's cheeks are a little pink and he's smiling. 

"I missed this. I missed this a terrible lot," he says.

"Hmm," Geralt hums and then decides to not hold back for once. "I did too."

"You did?"

"Does that surprise you?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier shrugs. "Honestly? Yes, perhaps. I know you enjoyed our little romps; of course I did. The sex was always quite stellar. But I wasn't sure if it was more than a mere convenience," he says and gives a self-deprecating laugh. "I know I'm not Yennefer." 

"Yennefer is… complicated."

"And I'm easy."

"Hardly," Geralt scoffs. "But it was always true. Always real."

"Yes," Jaskier agrees quietly. "Always." 

"I didn't realize how real until I lost it," Geralt admits. 

"Careful, my dear, or one might think you are admitting to having feelings for me," Jaskier says lightly.

"Jask," Geralt grumbles. "I do. You have to know I do."

Jaskier sighs. "I thought you might. I hoped, at least, especially recently. But I fear I'm not as uncomplicated as you might think. Because I want things from you I can't have. I… I do not wish to share you with Yen, Geralt. I don't think my heart could handle it."

"Then don't share me," Geralt says. 

"You mean that?" Jaskier asks quietly. Under the cloak, his hand finds Geralt's, clasping it and threading their fingers together. "Because I can only do this if you mean it."

"Yes," Geralt says. "She is part of my life. She always will be. And yours too, whether you two like it or not. But not in the way things used to be."

"And you and I? What are we? Because I don't think we can be like we were before either."

"I don't want us to be," Geralt says with a huff. "There's time. We'll figure what we are." 

*

Geralt slips under the mountain of furs Jaskier has burrowed under. They made it to the keep a few days ago, just before the weather turned even worse, and now the snow outside is knee high and wind is howling around Kaer Morhen, swirling icy flakes around furiously, and it's bitter cold. 

But it's warm inside. There's a fire in the hearth and it's warm under the furs. Geralt leans in to nuzzle the back of Jaskier's neck as he presses close and his hand settles on Jaskier's waist. He meets naked skin where he expected the soft cotton shirt Jaskier usually wears to bed.

"You're not wearing much."

Jaskier squirms a little. "That works best when you need to share body heat, my dear witcher. You know that. You've told me that."

"Hmm. But it's not cold in here."

"Not for a witcher, perhaps, but for a mere human like myself it is," Jaskier says.

Geralt's lips stretch into a grin at the lie. He hums and runs his hand up again, stroking over smooth, warm skin. He slips his hand around Jaskier's waist, fingers trailing over the scar on his belly. There are a handful on Jaskier's body now that weren't there a few months ago, wounds that were already too old or too deep for Yennefer to heal without leaving behind any traces. There's a long, thin one on Jaskier's thigh, a smaller one on the inside of his arm and a couple on his back. The one on his belly is the most pronounced and Geralt traces it carefully with the pads of his fingers.

"You don't have to touch them, you know," Jaskier says, his voice half-muffled against the pillows. 

"You never minded touching mine," Geralt points out.

"That's different," Jaskier says quietly. "You got them saving people. I got mine because I was stupid. I wasn't being careful. And I never learned to defend myself properly."

"You're a bard, not a witcher. And there was one of you and several of them," Geralt says. 

"Still."

Geralt huffs. He lets his entire hand rest over the scar. He wishes he could see Jaskier's face, but it's turned away from him. He nuzzles the side of his throat. "You got this protecting me. Protecting Ciri."

"I just… feel so weak sometimes now," Jaskier admits quietly. "Gods, I've gotten close to how many monsters following you? And I was always so cocky, so sure I was strong and brave and that nothing would ever really touch me. And now I quake at the thought of being alone with strangers. I hardly sleep unless you're nearby, touching me." 

"Then we'll make you stronger," Geralt replies. 

"I'm no good with a sword."

"But you're good with a dagger. You're wily and nimble. And fast. Sometimes the best self-defense is knowing when to run," Geralt says. "We can work on those things."

"We can try," Jaskier agrees. "I'd like that." 

"Hmm, good," Geralt replies. He moves his hand over the scar, the touch light, but after a few moments Jaskier starts squirming. Geralt hums.

"Geralt," Jaskier says with a huff. 

"Hmm. What do you want?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier takes Geralt's hand by the wrist and guides it to his cock, still soft in the confines of his smallclothes. Geralt presses his mouth to Jaskier's shoulder and rubs Jaskier through the layer of cotton. "Yes?" he asks.

He feels Jaskier's nod, quick and jerky. "Yes. Please," he says, rolling his hips forward into Geralt's touch. "Touch me, Geralt."

"Hmm. Alright," Geralt says and his fingers pluck at the strings lacing up the garment. He undoes them deftly and slides his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier's length. He strokes him, long and slow, grip tight the way he knows Jaskier likes it, and feels him harden in his hand. 

"Fuck. Oh fuck, Geralt," Jaskier groans. "Been so long."

"Yeah?"

Jaskier pushes into his hand, breath already turning ragged. "Hmm. Yes. Gods, your hand feels so good around me," he says. "After we parted, I often imagined it was your hand when I was touching myself. Sometimes when I was with others too."

"That happen often?"

"Being with others? You know me. Pretending they were you? More often than I care to admit," Jaskier says.

Geralt nuzzles the side of Jaskier's throat and lets go of him, shushing Jaskier when he makes a noise in protest. He tugs at the waistband of Jaskier's smallthings and pulls them down past the swell of Jaskier's ass when he lifts his hips off the mattress. Geralt brings his hand up to spit into it before he takes Jaskier in hand again. He gives him a few firm strokes, then stops to swipe his thumb over the head, wet and sticky with precome. Jaskier lets out a whine and rocks forward.

"Fuck, darling, I really thought about this so much. About your hand. Your mouth," Jaskier says and then pushes back, pressing his ass against Geralt's crotch before rocking forward into his hand again. "Your cock."

Geralt grunts. He jerks Jaskier faster, more firmly, while pressing his cock against the swell of Jaskier's ass. He worms his free hand under and around Jaskier, holding him against his body.

Geralt hooks his chin over Jaskier's shoulder. The furs are shielding the view, but he knows what Jaskier looks like, has memorized the sight. He can picture his pretty, pink prick sliding in and out of Geralt's hand, the way Jaskier's hips hitch forward restlessly. Geralt keeps the rhythm steady, listens to Jaskier's gasped breaths and wet pants, the quiet moans and whimpers. 

"Come on, Jask," he rumbles, and Jaskier groans. He tosses his head back, cheeks flushed and lips bitten red. Geralt feels smug, pleased, that he did this, made Jaskier look this wrecked, feel this mindless with pleasure.

"Come for me," he murmurs, and Jaskier keens, spilling into Geralt's hand and all over his belly and chest moments later. Geralt keeps stroking him, working him through it until Jaskier's moans and gasps turn into whimpers. 

He kisses Jaskier's throat, his jaw, his cheek, whatever part he can reach. "Shh," he murmurs, soothing, and lets go of Jaskier's cock to run a slightly sticky hand down his thigh. 

Jaskier groans, touches his forearm. "You, too," he says, voice a little slurred, dazed.

Geralt wants to be generous, tell him this was all about Jaskier, but he's painfully hard and turned on. He reaches for the laces of his braies, undoing them hastily, and pulls them down enough to free his cock. He spits into his palm and takes himself in hand, gets his cock slick before he guides it between Jaskier's cheeks. He rocks forward, feels his cock nudge against the swell of Jaskier's balls and groans deeply. It feels amazing, the perfect hot friction.

"Yes. Yes, come on," Jaskier coaxes, and reaches back, grabbing Geralt's ass as Geralt continues to rut against him. It doesn't take long before he feels his gut tighten, hot white pleasure coursing through him as he spills between Jaskier's thighs, face buried in the curve of his neck. 

*

Lying together, warm and safe and cozy, Geralt feels peaceful with Jaskier held in his arms. They cleaned up haphazardly, but the room still reeks of sex, of both of them. He's slept better these past few days than he has in months, finally able to relax now that they're at Kaer Morhen, now that Jaskier seems more at ease. 

He listens to Jaskier's breath start to even out, watches his features relax as he falls asleep with his head pillowed on Geralt's chest.

*

Geralt wakes up to Jaskier thrashing, quiet, pained whimpers falling from his lips. 

"Jaskier," Geralt rasps. He reaches for him, to gently wake him up. It helps most of the time. This time, Jaskier jerks violently at the barest brush of Geralt's fingers, an elbow hitting Geralt hard in the chest as his eyes shoot open, a choked scream falling from his lips. 

Geralt's instincts are to fight back, to subdue, but these last months have taught him to suppress those reactions, to keep his touches gentle and his voice soft. He's never had to do this with Jaskier before—he's always made sure not to hurt him, the first punch to the gut aside, but they've tussled and wrestled before. Geralt held back, of course, but never like this. 

"Jaskier," he repeats, trying to sound soothing. "It's okay. You're safe. You're at Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier takes a long, shuddering breath. For a moment, he's completely stiff, like he's still caught in the moment, and then he turns into Geralt with a trembled sob, and Geralt gathers him close.

He shushes him, murmurs quiet reassurance into Jaskier's hair until Jaskier calms down, his crying turning into small sniffles.

"Want to talk about it?" Geralt asks, a little stilted. 

Jaskier snuffles and shakes his head, face still pressed into the curve of Geralt's neck. 

"Alright," Geralt agrees, not wanting to push Jaskier. "Think you can go back to sleep?" 

"No," Jaskier says, sounding pained.

Geralt hums and strokes his back, holding him more tightly for a moment.

"Can you just… hold me like this?" Jaskier asks.

"Of course."

Jaskier sniffs again and snuggles closer, as if he's trying to bury himself in Geralt's body. "I'm sorry."

Geralt doesn't need to ask what Jaskier is apologizing for. They've been through this several times. Jaskier always feels bad for waking Geralt up, for keeping him awake after when he doesn't want to go back to sleep. It doesn't matter that Geralt doesn't need much sleep, that he'd rather be awake to make sure Jaskier is doing okay. 

"Stop talking nonsense, bard," he says, gruff affection coloring his voice. "What do you need? Just this?"

Jaskier shifts against him. "Can you talk to me? About anything," he says after a moment of hesitation. "I know you don't like to. But. Please?"

"Hmm," Geralt hums, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent, warm and soothing. "Have I told you about the time Eskel and I caught a huge forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug?"

Jaskier snorts. "No."

Geralt smiles at the memory. "It's a good story. We got in trouble for that one," he says. 

"Tell me," Jaskier murmurs. "And don't be stingy with the details, Geralt."

Geralt hums. "Alright," he says. He can't tell stories the way Jaskier does, but he tries to add as many details as he can remember for Jaskier's sake, tries to make it interesting, and then proceeds to tell Jaskier more stories about growing up at Kaer Morhen. He keeps things light and he thinks it's the most he's talked in a long time, but having Jaskier stay relaxed and content in his arms is worth it. Eventually, Jaskier dozes off, but he keeps rousing, his rest fitful. 

Yet, when the sun finally rises and Geralt gets up to join everyone else for breakfast, Jaskier makes no move to get out of bed. He looks tired still, vulnerable curled up under a heap of fur and blankets.

Geralt gives him a look, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't think I want to get up and be social yet," Jaskier admits. "But you go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite sure, dear," Jaskier says and sighs. "I wouldn't mind being alone for a bit. Just… to sort out my thoughts. I don't think I would be very good company this morning anyway."

Geralt, albeit reluctantly, nods in agreement. He can't remember a single instance before being captured by Nilfgaard where Jaskier needed space—he was always following Geralt and when he wasn't, he found company elsewhere. But he gets withdrawn, seeking time alone, now. Geralt never would have thought he would have trouble giving Jaskier that, not when he himself always wished to be alone, but he loathes it. 

Still, he gives Jaskier what he needs and continues getting dressed before leaving their shared room. 

He busies himself until midday, sparring with Eskel and cleaning weapons. He isn't surprised when Jaskier doesn't come out of their room—he hadn't been hopeful that he would. There have been many days like this, where Jaskier holes himself up and doesn't want to face the rest of the world.

Geralt is ashamed to realize that maybe he _had_ hoped Kaer Morhen would be the magical place that would fix things, like Jaskier had spit out on the trail up the mountains. There's no safer place on the Continent and there are four witchers here to keep Jaskier safe, and deep down Geralt had hoped it would be enough to ease Jaskier's fears and cease the nightmares. 

By lunchtime, Geralt decides to bring up some food and a mug of tea for Jaskier. There's no telling if Jaskier will touch any of it, but Geralt needs to at least try, and it'll be a good excuse to check up on him. He butters two thick slabs of bread, adds some cheese and a few slices of cold meat that were leftover from dinner the day before and then adds a handful of dried fruit that he knows Jaskier likes. 

He isn't surprised when he finds Jaskier still in bed, though judging by the circles under his eyes he hasn't gotten any more sleep since Geralt left. 

"Food," Geralt says unnecessarily, holding up the plate and mug. 

Jaskier sits up and accepts the mug from Geralt, sighing as he wraps his hands around it. Geralt puts the plate down on the bed and then sits down on the edge of the mattress.

"Anything else you need?"

Jaskier takes a sip from the mug and shakes his head. "I'm good."

Geralt bites back a grimace at the lie, but Jaskier sees it anyway and heaves a sigh.

"Oh fine, not _good_. But it's just a bad day. We've been through plenty of them," he says. "I just wish to be on my own today, dear. I think, maybe, I will try composing a little."

"You haven't in a while," Geralt says with a quiet hum.

Jaskier gives him a small, pained smile. "No," he agrees. "But I think I feel like it. I will find out if I'm still any good with these."

He wiggles his fingers and Geralt smiles. 

"Plenty good," he says.

Jaskier's eyes widen a little. "Geralt of Rivia, are you complimenting my sexual prowess?" he asks. "I never thought I would see the day."

"Hmm," Geralt says and gets up. "I'll leave you to it, bard."

Jaskier nods. "Geralt?" he says. "Thank you. For being so understanding. And taking care of me."

Geralt nods quietly. "Try to eat a little," he replies. 

*

Jaskier still hasn't emerged when evening draws and Geralt tries not to let it worry him too much. Tomorrow will be better, he silently tells himself. 

Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir look worried too when Jaskier doesn't join them for dinner. 

"He's just having a bad day. He needs some time," he assures them. "There's no need to be worried."

Still, Geralt scarfs his food down quickly and then fills a bowl for Jaskier, hoping the thick, hearty stew will entice him to eat. He grabs a tankard of ale as well and then makes his way up the tower to their room.

Jaskier is sitting in front of the fire, his lute on his lap and pieces of parchment strewn around him. He stops playing when Geralt enters and his eyes go a little wide as he looks at the bowl in Geralt's hands. A quick glance around the room tells Geralt that he barely ate anything, the plate of food he prepared earlier sitting mostly untouched by the bed.

"It's dinner time already?" Jaskier asks. "Gods, it seems I completely lost track of time."

Geralt nods and puts the bowl and the ale down on the ground next to Jaskier. "It's dark out," he points out. Jaskier looks at the windows and gives a little laugh.

"So it seems," he agrees. "I got a little lost in composing. You know how I get sometimes." 

Geralt hums and settles down next to Jaskier on the thick furs. Jaskier's hair is dishevelled, the way it gets when he runs his fingers through it constantly while fiddling with lyrics, and his eyes look a little red-rimmed, as if he cried earlier.

"I do know," he says.

Jaskier gives him a pleased little smile. "I think I needed this," he admits. "I doubt anything I wrote today is the type of music I can play in taverns, I'm afraid. Much too depressing. But I feel a little better. Lighter."

"That's good," Geralt says.

"Yes. It truly is," Jaskier agrees. "I don't want to be like this, you know. I know perhaps it seems foolish to hope I can be my old self again, but I want to try to get my old life back."

"You have been," Geralt says. "You've been fighting so hard. Every day."

"Maybe," Jaskier concedes. "But I have so many fears and I have been letting them rule my life these past few months. I've been letting them keep me from doing things I love—from my music. I want to perform again, Geralt, and I want to go back on the Path with you and I want to fall asleep next to you without worrying what I will dream about."

"You will," Geralt says reassuringly. 

"You sound sure of that," Jaskier says.

Geralt hums. "There's little that can stop you when you want something. I should know—I tried to stop you from following me for a long time."

Jaskier grins a little. "You make a good point, my dear," he says. "Now. Let me put these notes away, so I don't get any stew on them."

"You'll eat?"

Jaskier touches his arm, gives it a small squeeze. "I will. In fact, I feel quite famished," he says, and Geralt feels some of the day's worries dissipate. 

*

Jaskier is sitting in the middle of their bed, furs and blankets pooled around him, eyes still puffy with sleep and skin sleep-pale. 

"Come on," Geralt urges.

"It's too early for this, darling," Jaskier groans and flops back down.

"It's not. It'll do you good," Geralt replies and grabs clothes for Jaskier—a simple pair of trousers and a tunic, the kind of garments Jaskier only wears when he doesn't want to get his fancy outfits ruined. Geralt tosses everything onto the bed. "I told you I would teach you how to defend yourself."

"You didn't say it would happen in the middle of the night. I never would have agreed to this."

"The sun is already rising, Jaskier," Geralt replies exasperatedly.

Jaskier makes a dismissive noise. "Let's start with a simpler lesson. Hiding," he says and pulls a fur up over his head. 

Geralt looks at the Jaskier-shaped mountain of blankets and furs, lips quirked up in amused fondness. "You think that's going to be effective?"

"Yes," Jaskier's muffled reply comes. "You can't see me, can you?"

Geralt stalks to the bed, but stops there, not wanting to do anything to startle and aggravate Jaskier. "I can hear your heartbeat. And I can smell you," he points out.

"Well, that's because you're a creep," Jaskier says. 

Geralt huffs. "Am I?"

"Yes. Following the scent of innocent, pretty bards," Jaskier says. "Who does that?"

"Monsters," Geralt replies. "And witchers with a thing for bards."

Jaskier pulls the furs down a little, until his eyes are peeking out on top. "Are there many witchers who like bards? I need to know, in case I ever want to trade you in for another witcher," he says.

Geralt growls playfully. "Maybe I should find myself another bard then."

"Another… Geralt! There's no other bard like me," Jaskier declares, pulling the covers down further. "They're all terrible hacks! Don't you dare even look at another bard or I will be very cross with you." 

Geralt cocks his head to the side. "You know you're really awful at this hiding thing? Being silent would be a good start if you don't want to be found," he says. "Now come on. Let me teach you something that might actually be useful."

Jaskier huffs. "Oh, alright, fine," he says. "Though I still don't see why we can't do this at a reasonable time."

"It's good to start your day with a little exercise," Geralt says. 

"I strongly disagree. Unless we're talking about the naked kind of exercise, witcher," Jaskier says while rolling out of bed, looking adorably mussed. Geralt watches him pull on the breeches he picked out and as his fingers skim over the scar on his belly, he briefly stops and grimaces. 

"Jask," Geralt says, keeping his voice gentle.

"I know," Jaskier says and lifts his head, squaring his shoulders. "You're right. Let's do this."

*

Geralt thinks he should have suggested training Jaskier way sooner, because despite Jaskier's many complaints over the next weeks, it's clear that it's helping him. Along with the weight, he lost some of the muscle he used to have and training helps build them up again, and their morning sessions more often than not leave Jaskier ravenous, making him eat more as well. He fills out, starts looking healthier again.

Geralt takes Jaskier running on the grounds outside of Kaer Morhen regularly, makes him jump and climb over obstacles, even when it rains or snows. They spar and work on Jaskier's self-defense techniques and Geralt makes Jaskier throw daggers at a target until his aim is near perfect. 

Afterwards, he massages Jaskier's sore muscles and draws them hot baths. Jaskier avoids the communal hot springs under Kaer Morhen, but Geralt is fine sharing the bath in his room instead, having Jaskier all to himself after a long, exhausting morning of training together. Slowly, but surely, Jaskier regains his old strength and learns new skills and with it his confidence soars. 

There are still plenty of bad days. Nights where Jaskier wakes up screaming, days where he curls up in bed and doesn't want to face the world. Once, when Geralt pins him during a sparring session, he has a full-blown panic attack and after, he curls up in Geralt's arms and cries his eyes out while Geralt mutters apologies over and over. But the bad days are getting fewer and they are getting easier for him to handle. And with that his smiles become a little easier, his posture more relaxed and Geralt finds him with his lute in his lap again more and more often.

Winter has Kaer Morhen in its icy clutches when Geralt comes back into the keep from feeding the horses one day to the sound of Jaskier's laughter, bright and carefree and happy. Briefly, Geralt falters. He's heard Jaskier laugh since Nilfgaard, but not like this—not this loud, this boisterous. 

Picking up his pace again, Geralt follows the sound into the kitchen, shaking snow from his cloak as he goes. He finds Jaskier sitting at the table near the hearth with Lambert and Eskel, Lambert regaling them with some story that has Jaskier nearly in tears, his cheeks flushed and his shoulders shaking.

Geralt stops in the doorway and just looks at him. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this and he thinks, stupidly, that he's never seen anything more beautiful than this. 

"Geralt?" Eskel calls. 

Geralt grunts in reply and doesn't take his eyes off Jaskier, who turns to look at him, giggles still falling from his lips. "Darling? Is everything okay?" he asks, and touches his cheeks. "Is there something on my face?"

Geralt wants to say something utterly ridiculous like, _Yes, a smile_ , but thankfully his mouth remains firmly shut.

"Come on," Eskel says and out of the corner of his eye Geralt sees him give Lambert a firm nudge. "Let's go."

"Why?" 

"Because the idiot looks like he's going to jump Jaskier any second now and I don't think either of us want to watch that happen," Eskel says. Jaskier's flush gets brighter, cheeks stained dark pink.

Geralt waits until Eskel and Lambert have left the room before he stalks over to the table and sits down next to Jaskier, straddling the bench and facing him. 

"What's gotten into you?" Jaskier asks, but he's still smiling. 

Geralt cups Jaskier's face and traces his smile with his thumb. "I missed hearing you laugh like that," he says in a deep rumble. 

Jaskier's face gets even more pink and he ducks his head, leaning into Geralt's touch. "Oh, you ridiculous sap of a witcher," he says, sounding soft and fond. "How can anyone think witchers don't have emotions when you say the sweetest things and make a simple bard fall head over heels with you?"

"You're not simple. And you're the only one who I say those kinds of things to," Geralt says. 

"Well, good, you better not be saying them to anyone else," Jaskier murmurs. He leans in and Geralt meets him halfway, drawing him into a kiss. 

*

"So, what's the plan for today?" Jaskier asks, a little sluggishly, as he gets out of bed. He peers out the windows and makes a face. "Please tell me we're not going outside in that weather? We've run through rain and mud and snow enough, don't you think?"

Geralt grunts.

"Was that a _yes, Jaskier, my love, my darling bard, you're right_?" Jaskier asks. "I believe it was."

Geralt snorts and tosses clothes at Jaskier.

"You know, I like this. You picking my clothes out for me in the morning," Jaskier says as he starts pulling on the trousers. "Makes me feel like a kept boy, which is something I'm definitely not opposed to. Your taste in clothing is absolutely dreadful, but we can work on that."

"If you're this chatty maybe you have a bit too much energy and we should go run an obstacle course outside after all," Geralt notes.

Jaskier shakes his head vehemently. "Oh no. No. I have no energy. I'm absolutely listless, my dear," he says. 

"Hmm. I hope not. Because my plans do include running," Geralt says.

"Really?" Jaskier says, pained.

"I thought we could see how good you are at running away," Geralt says. "While being chased."

Oh," Jaskier says and Geralt notes with interest that his cheeks color a little, his scent getting warm and heady. "From you?" 

"Hmm. Yes."

"We're staying in the keep?"

"Your choice," Geralt says. "You run wherever you want." 

Jaskier nods. "Alright," he says, smiling a little. He continues pulling on clothes, his boots last. "Any rules?"

Geralt walks over, stopping in front of Jaskier. He rests his hands on Jaskier's hips, holding him against him for a moment, and leans in to kiss him. "No rules," he says. "I'll give you a headstart."

"Sounds fair," Jaskier says. "Will there be a reward? I work best with rewards." 

Geralt chuckles. "Hmm. If I catch you, I'll get to have my way with you."

"Well, that doesn't exactly entice me to get away, but okay," Jaskier agrees. "And if you don't catch me?"

"I will," Geralt says.

Jaskier scoffs and looks at Geralt, his chin raised. There's a glint in his eyes that makes want coil in Geralt's gut. "If you don't catch me," Jaskier says pointedly, "I get to tell you what to do for the rest of the day."

"Deal," Geralt agrees. He leans in, nuzzles Jaskier's jaw and breathes in his scent, so familiar Geralt knows he could track Jaskier anywhere on the Continent, pick his scent out among any others. He lets go of Jaskier's hips, but doesn't step back, and in a low voice he murmurs, "Run, Jaskier."

Jaskier gives him a shove and spins around, breaking out into a run. Geralt stays perfectly still, silently counts to twenty, before he gives chase.

Jaskier knows Kaer Morhen fairly well by now—not as well as Geralt, of course, but he tries not to use that to his advantage. Instead he follows Jaskier's scent and the sounds of his steps, running after him through dark corridors, up and down the flights of stairs. 

Jaskier was never going to win. Geralt is faster and has better stamina, but Jaskier lasts longer than Geralt anticipated. He's fast, but more than that, he's nimble, slipping through Geralt's fingers more than once, hopping over things and ducking under others. When Geralt finally catches up to him, Jaskier is out of breath and starting to slack, and Geralt catches him around the waist, pulling him back against him and making sure they don't tumble onto the hard, stony ground. 

Jaskier, to his credit, doesn't give up that easily. He squirms and wiggles, nails digging and scratching at Geralt's skin in an attempt to get out of his hold, and if Geralt wasn't a witcher, he thinks Jaskier might actually have a chance of getting away once more. 

"Give up, bard," Geralt murmurs.

"Never," Jaskier pants, kicking him in the shin hard enough to hurt. Geralt grunts and shifts his hold, pressing Jaskier to him more securely. 

"I won, Jask." 

"Well, that's not fair," Jaskier whines, still grappling at his arms and wiggling around. "You're faster and stronger than humans."

"You knew that going in," Geralt says.

Jaskier huffs. "Yes. But it's still not fair," he says.

Geralt hums and noses Jaskier's neck, kissing the warm, slightly sweaty skin. "Are you trying to cheat me out of my winnings?"

Jaskier finally ceases struggling, slumping back against Geralt and tilting his head to the side none too subtly, giving Geralt better access to his neck. "No. I'm yours, White Wolf. Do with me as you wish."

"Hmm. Well, I think you do deserve a reward," Geralt muses. "You did well."

"I did?"

"Yes," Geralt says. 

"So, what's my reward?" Jaskier asks. 

Geralt hums and trails one of his hands down Jaskier's belly to his crotch. He palms Jaskier's cock, giving it a gentle squeeze while pressing his hips forward, grinding his half-hard cock against the swell of Jaskier's ass, and Jaskier groans.

"I can have _that_ whenever I want," Jaskier points out, breathless. "And I'm not sure whether that's a reward for _me_ or _you_."

"Hmm, true," Geralt says. "That's why I thought I'd start with my mouth. Make you come on my tongue, because I know you love that. And then, when you're all relaxed and wet with my spit, then I'll fuck you."

"Oh fucking fuck, Geralt!" Lambert yells from somewhere down the hall. "I don't need to know that!"

Jaskier stiffens briefly, but then he laughs, squirming around in Geralt's arms and burying his face in his shoulder, stifling his giggles. 

"Don't fucking eavesdrop then, you prick!" Geralt calls back, while wrapping his arms around Jaskier more securely. He feels Jaskier shake against him, but he can also feel the heat coming off his cheek, pressed against his neck.

Geralt hums and shifts Jaskier, bending down to lift him up over his shoulder.

"Geralt!" Jaskier exclaims and wiggles. Geralt hesitates for a moment.

"Okay?" he asks, voice pitched low.

Jaskier snorts. "Yes," he says and Geralt starts walking, carrying Jaskier down the hallway. "I have quite an excellent view from here."

"Hmm." 

Jaskier laughs and slaps Geralt's ass. Warmth spreads in Geralt's chest at the sound of Jaskier's laughter, loud enough that it echoes through the hallway, _carefree_. 

Back in their room, Geralt deposits Jaskier on the bed, and Jaskier grabs him by the shoulders before he can straighten up, pulling him down with him.

"Come here, witcher," he says. "You made a lot of promises in the hallway and you better intend on keeping them."

"Hmm, I do," Geralt replies. He presses Jaskier down into the mattress and kisses him. Jaskier's lips are soft and he opens them with a sweet sigh under Geralt's, running his fingers into Geralt's hair as Geralt licks into his mouth, lets their tongues slide together. His hands travel down Jaskier's sides until he reaches the hem of his tunic. He tugs it up, slides his fingers under the fabric to touch bare skin. Jaskier shudders beneath him, arching his hips up wantonly as much as the bulk of Geralt's body pinning him down allows. 

Geralt breaks the kiss to trail his mouth up Jaskier's jaw, then kiss a fervent line down the side of his neck. Jaskier's skin tastes of salty sweat and faintly of last night's bath oils. Geralt pushes his nose into warm skin, bites at the soft curve of Jaskier's neck before sucking on the same spot.

"Geralt," Jaskier groans, tilting his head to the side. He feels the hard line of Jaskier's cock against his, proof of how much he's enjoying this. Geralt hums into his skin and only pulls away when he knows he'll have left a visible mark behind. A wave of smug satisfaction runs through him as he sees the result, and Jaskier huffs.

"Possessive bastard," he teases.

Geralt meets his eyes, a content rumble breaking free. "Yes. You're mine," he says.

Jaskier's eyes widen briefly, clearly surprised by the reply. His cheeks flush pink and Geralt leans in, presses his mouth to Jaskier's puffy, kiss-bruised lips, pleased by the reaction.

"Mine," he repeats.

He nuzzles Jaskier's neck and then pulls away, hands rucking up Jaskier's tunic to pull it off. He strips Jaskier completely naked, until he's bare and spread out before him with his legs splayed around Geralt's. He's flushed from the chest up, eyes a little glassy with desire, his cock hard and red, lying against his stomach. He's _pretty_ and he's all Geralt's, has been for years and Geralt took it for granted. He wishes he could tell Jaskier, could put into words how he feels, this almost mad sense of fondness and protectiveness and possessiveness Jaskier inspires in him. But as much as Geralt has been trying, he isn't good with words, not the way Jaskier is. 

He can show him, though. And so he leans in, trails slow, lingering kisses down Jaskier's body. His hands smooth down Jaskier's side, settle on his hips as his mouth maps out his body. He follows the trail of hair down Jaskier's stomach, kisses and nips at smooth skin and then presses soft, fervent kisses to the scar marring Jaskier's belly, drawing a soft gasp from him. Jaskier's hard cock brushes against his chin and he hums, turning his face to give it small, teasing licks and kisses, but he moves further down quickly.

Jaskier's hands tangle in his hair once more as Geralt moves lower, nosing behind his balls. His scent is so much stronger here, musky and heady, and Geralt loves it. Loves putting his mouth anywhere on Jaskier's body, but he especially loves licking Jaskier open, getting a taste of him while making him fall apart on just his tongue. He wraps his hands under Jaskier's thighs and pushes them up and out, exposing him. 

Jaskier lets out a needy, wanting whine.

Geralt runs his tongue from behind Jaskier's balls over his taint to his hole, humming contentedly at the breathless noise he draws from Jaskier. He presses his tongue to Jaskier's entrance, licks over it slow and teasing, feeling the ring of muscles contract. He keeps it up for a while, kissing and licking, getting Jaskier wet with his spit.

"Fuck. Oh fuck, Geralt," Jaskier pants.

Geralt pulls away with a last kiss. "Hold your legs up for me," he says, waiting until he feels Jaskier's hands against his before letting go. He palms as much of Jaskier's ass as the position allows, thumbs slipping into the crack and spreading his cheeks apart. He looks so pretty like this, held open for Geralt, his hole pink and small, glistening with Geralt's spit. He lets out a quiet groan at the sight and dives back in. He gives Jaskier a few more licks, lets more saliva trickle down before he stiffens his tongue and presses in.

Jaskier cries out as Geralt works the tip of his tongue inside. Geralt fucks into him shallowly, until the muscles relax around him, and then pushes his tongue in deeper, relishing in the wet, gasping noises Jaskier is making. He knows exactly how Jaskier likes this, knows he loves it when Geralt gets him wet and messy with his spit, knows when to draw back and lap at his hole, kiss and suck and make Jaskier moan needily before thrusting his tongue back in. 

He brings Jaskier to the edge with his mouth and when he can tell Jaskeir is close, he lets go of Jaskier with one hand to slip two fingers between his spit-slick cheeks. He presses them right into Jaskier alongside his tongue, sinking them in deep, and Jaskier stiffens and comes with a loud whine, hips arching off the bed. 

Geralt works him through it, licking and kissing his rim as he slowly works his fingers in and out, humming under his breath. 

"G—Geralt," Jaskier hiccups, and Geralt pulls back with a final kiss, slowly pulling his fingers free. He presses an opened-mouth kiss to the inside of Jaskier's thigh, to his hip, before moving up the mattress to lie down next to Jaskier. 

"Good?" he murmurs, hand stroking up and down Jaskier's side soothingly, feeling the slight tremor shaking Jaskier's body. 

"Hmm. So good," Jaskier says, words slurred together. 

Geralt kisses his neck, breathes him in, sweat and warm arousal and sweet satisfaction. His own cock is still achingly hard, but he's in no hurry, content to have Jaskier pliant and sated in his arms, let him bask in the afterglow before Geralt gets him all worked up again. 

Jaskier turns his head and Geralt meets his mouth in a kiss, licks into Jaskier's mouth and lets him taste himself. They kiss, slow and languid, and it's only when Geralt trails his hand down Jaskier's stomach, through his cooled, sticky spend, and wraps his fingers around Jaskier's still soft cock that Jaskier breaks the kiss with a gasp. 

Geralt strokes him slowly, his grip firm, and watches Jaskier's pink lips fall open around a moan. He feels Jaskier begin to harden again and grins.

"I want to fuck you," he murmurs, and Jaskier keens, arching his hips up into Geralt's touch.

"Gods, yes," he sighs. 

Geralt hums and lets go of him, turning to retrieve the vial of oil from the small table next to the bed. He pops the stopper out, the faint, pleasant sweetness of the scented oil hitting his nose, and slicks three of his fingers up generously. Jaskier watches him with hooded eyes, looking wrecked and wanton, and he splays his legs apart again readily when Geralt reaches between them. His spit has started to dry already and Geralt rubs over Jaskier's hole, circling the rim and spreading the oil there before he slowly pushes two fingers back into Jaskier's heat. Jaskier lets out a low groan, head tossed back. 

Geralt takes his time with Jaskier, both to make sure Jaskier is slick and open for him and because he knows how much Jaskier likes this, likes having Geralt play with him with his fingers. He twists his fingers inside of Jaskier, works them in and out, eyes roaming over Jaskier as he does so, taking in the deepening flush on his cheeks, the way his half-hard cock fattens up again. He fits a third finger inside along the first two, smiling at the soft groan that falls from Jaskier's lips. 

"Feels good?" he asks, tone teasing.

Jaskier nods shakily. "Yes. Fuck, so good," he says. "Want more."

"Not yet," Geralt replies. He crooks his fingers, makes sure to rub right against Jaskier's prostate, and Jaskier cries out, muscles going tight around Geralt for a moment before he relaxes again.

"Fuck," Jaskier hisses. 

Geralt hums and repeats the motion, watching Jaskier moan and rock down on his fingers. He's taking them easily, body wet and hot around Geralt, and Geralt knows Jaskier could take his cock already, too, but he drags it out, fucks Jaskier with his fingers until he's writhing, his prick fully hard again. He adds more oil and slowly, patiently, works a fourth finger into Jaskier. There's a bit of resistance there, but just for a moment, before Jaskier relaxes, body opening up around Geralt once more. 

"So good for me, Jask," Geralt murmurs and slowly sinks his fingers in to his knuckles. Jaskier whimpers, eyes screwed shut and lashes wet with unshed tears.

"Geralt. Fuck, Geralt, so good. So full," he slurs.

"Want more still?" Geralt asks. "Want my cock now, songbird?"

Jaskier moans and trembles, eyes fluttering open. "Please, darling. Please," he begs, and Geralt can't resist the soft plea.

He pulls his fingers free and nudges Jaskier's legs further apart to kneel between them. Grabbing the vial once more, he pours oil into his hand and fists himself, getting himself ready, before he guides one of Jaskier's legs up over his shoulders. He bends down, holding Jaskier open, fingers digging into the thick muscles of his thigh, as he positions himself, his medallion falling against Jaskier's chest with a small slap. The head of his cock catches against Jaskier's rim, and he shifts, pressing his hips forward. There's only a moment of resistance, before Geralt pushes past the first ring of muscles into tight, slick heat. He lets out a deep groan, the pleasure in his gut coiling tighter, and Jaskier answers with a moan, grabbing his arms.

Slowly, bit by bit, Geralt works himself in deeper, rocking forward until he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against Jaskier's ass. Leaning down, Geralt presses a bruising kiss against Jaskier's lips, and starts moving. He fucks Jaskier with long, deep thrusts, burying himself in Jaskier's body over and over, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with sharp gasps and low moans.

"Touch yourself," Geralt says when he feels himself drawing close, snapping his hips forward. 

Jaskier keens and reaches for himself, starts stroking himself in rhythm with Geralt's thrusts. He comes first, with a cry of Geralt's name, shuddering and shaking apart under Geralt, his hot spend splattering onto both of their chests. He goes tight around Geralt, almost too tight, and Geralt groans, pushing into Jaskier once, twice more before pleasure wrecks his body and he spills deep inside of Jaskier. 

He slumps forward, presses sloppy, fervent kisses to Jaskier's brow, his temple, as he basks in the afterglow. They're sticky and sweaty and Geralt's skin feels too warm, but he pulls Jaskier against him as he rolls off him, holding him close. Nuzzling Jaskier's hair, he sighs contentedly.

*

"I'm a mess," Jaskier complains, looking down at himself with distaste. He's clothes are covered in dust and grime, same as Geralt's, and there are smudges and streaks on his cheeks.

They spent the morning cleaning out one of the unused rooms, cleaning away dust and cobwebs before lugging in furniture, getting it ready for Yennefer and Ciri's arrival. The weather has been getting milder and Geralt guesses a fortnight from now it'll be warm enough for the snow to properly melt, making the path up to the keep passable again. 

Jaskier had tried to weasel his way out of helping Geralt, until Geralt had told him if he wasn't helping he should go train with Lambert and Eskel. Something Jaskier usually wouldn't mind, but Lambert had been starting to get restless and it made him moody and testy. Training had become less about staying in shape and more about working off unused energy to put Lambert in a better mood.

"Good thing you're wearing my tunic then and not your own," Geralt says dryly.

Jaskier scoffs. "Darling, this is barely more than a rag anyway," he says and sniffs. "Ugh, we both smell horrible. We need a bath."

"Hmm," Geralt hums. "I'll heat up some water."

"Yes," Jaskier agrees and shifts. "Or we could, maybe, just go bathe in the hot springs downstairs?"

Geralt falters for a split moment, before he nods. "Alright," he agrees, trying to keep his voice neutral, to not make a big deal out of this. Jaskier's first winter at Kaer Morhen, he had taken every opportunity to soak in the hot springs under the keep, lavishing in the always hot water and spacious pools. He hasn't bathed in them once this winter. Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir had offered to let Jaskier and Geralt have the communal space to themselves only once, but instead of taking them up on the offer, Jaskier had only gotten sullen and upset. 

"Lambert and Eskel will probably be done with training soon and want a bath as well," Geralt reminds him.

Jaskier nods and Geralt watches him square his shoulders, lifting his chin up defiantly. "It hardly makes sense for me to keep being shy about my scars around a bunch of witchers," he says and then adds, sounding less sure, "Right? You keep saying they're not bad."

"They're not," Geralt assures him. 

"Yes. So I need… I need to move past this ridiculous issue I have," Jaskier says and gives Geralt a small smile. "And I don't look like a skinny, starved waif anymore either. I might not be built like a witcher, but who is?"

"Jask," Geralt says, feeling foolish for never realizing that was an issue. "I didn't know…"

"I know I looked a right mess, Geralt," Jaskier says. "Gods know why you still desired me. I didn't feel very desirable, not with how uneasy I felt in my own skin. Not that I want Eskel and Lambert to desire me, of course. But you know how vain I am."

"You looked fine," Geralt counters gruffly.

Jaskier huffs and smirks. " _Fine_. Darling, if anyone else said that about me I would be offended, but I know from you that's high praise," he says. 

Geralt rolls his eyes. "Let's get moving, bard. We really do not smell particularly appealing."

Jaskier smiles a little and nods. He retrieves soap and oils and a clean change of clothes. Geralt grabs some clothes as well and then they head down into the cellars where the hot springs are. Eskel and Lambert must still be training, because there's nobody else there yet and the keep is quiet, Vesemir no doubt holed up in the library.

They put their clothes on one of the stone benches and then strip down. Geralt lets out a satisfied groan as he steps into the pool of hot water, Jaskier right behind him. They settle down side by side and Jaskier grabs his lavender soap, while Geralt sits back and just enjoys the soothing heat for a bit. He watches Jaskier scrub himself clean, washing away the grime and the smell of dried sweat, until his skin is clean and pink and his hair is hanging wetly in his face.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Jaskier asks. "Your hair isn't going to clean itself just by being in the proximity of hot water, dear."

"Hmm. I was hoping you would help me out with that," Geralt replies.

Jaskier heaves a sigh, but he looks pleased. "Oh alright, if I must, you lazy ass," he says. "Dunk your head underwater and get your hair wet then."

Geralt smiles and moves almost lazily, sinking down until he's completely submerged before coming back up, splashing water around. 

"You're in a good mood," Jaskier notes.

"Hmm." "Looking forward to Ciri and Yen coming here?" Jaskier hands him a cloth and another bar of soap. "Scrub yourself clean while I do your hair, please." 

Geralt accepts both and then lets Jaskier position him on the bench under water in front of him.

"I am," Geralt confirms, biting back a sigh as Jaskier starts lathering his hair. 

Jaskier doesn't reply, just makes a thoughtful humming noise. Geralt starts working the soap into the cloth, building up a thick lather to wash himself clean with. Jaskier's fingers in his hair feel distractingly good though and he finds himself leaning into the touch, tension easing from his body as Jaskier massages his scalp and cards through his hair. Judging by the amused huff Jaskier lets out, he's none too subtle about how much he's enjoying this. 

"There we go," Jaskier says when Geralt has rinsed the soap out. "One squeaky clean witcher."

"Happy?" Geralt asks.

"Yes. Don't get me wrong, there's something really very sexy about you when you're a bit dirty," Jaskier admits. "But putting my mouth anywhere on you when you are is still gross, so I prefer you all clean and pretty, my dear."

"Pretty, huh?"

Jaskier gives him a soft smile and runs his fingers through Geralt's now clean hair, brushing it back. "Ruggedly so, of course," he teases, and Geralt huffs. He sits back, leaning against the edge of the pool and Jaskier shifts to sit beside him, pressed against his side. Geralt smirks at him and lets his hand settle on Jaskier's thigh, slowly sliding it up. 

"Communal hot springs," Jaskier reminds him, voice low and thick.

"And that has stopped us before?"

Jaskier opens his mouth to answer when Geralt stiffens, hearing two sets of footsteps. He sighs and Jaskier frowns.

"Let me guess. Our fun time is about to be interrupted?" he guesses, sounding disappointed.

"Yes," Geralt confirms and draws his hand back. Jaskier shifts to the side, but only slightly, putting just a smidge more distance between them. A few moments later Lambert and Eskel come thudding down the stairs. Geralt cranes his head back, watching them burst through the entrance. Both of them look surprised when they spot him and Jaskier, but to their credit neither of them comments on it.

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything," Lambert snarks, not sounding sorry at all.

"Fuck you," Geralt replies. "I guess Eskel kicked your ass if you're still this prickly?"

Lambert grunts dismissively and Geralt shares a grin with Eskel.

"Be nice," Jaskier admonishes quietly, nudging his shoulder against Geralt's.

Geralt huffs and gives Jaskier a look, but settles back down.

Eskel and Lambert join them in the pool a few moments later, choosing the opposite side of it. Despite his prickly attitude, Lambert actually looks relaxed and clearly Eskel has done a good job of mellowing him out during training. They're bickering over training good-naturedly, Lambert claiming he would have bested Eskel if he hadn't used signs and Eskel arguing that it's a moot point.

Geralt contents himself with listening, knowing they won't share moments like this for much longer, because Lambert and Eskel will go back on the Path once the snow clears. Next to him, Jaskier is quiet as well, save for humming bits and pieces of a melody under his breath every now and then. Geralt can tell when it shifts, when Jaskier stops humming just absently and a melody catches his attention and he starts working on turning it into something more. He's witnessed this countless times, the way Jaskier's brow furrows, the thoughtful look that crosses his face as he starts composing in his head. 

He isn't surprised when Jaskier turns to him after a few moments of this. "I need to go write something down," he says. 

"Go," Geralt says, and Jaskier smiles. 

He gets out of the pool, water dripping down his naked body, and Geralt can't help but turn his head and watch. Winter has left Jaskier's skin creamy pale and training has made him bulk up a little, all lean, strong muscles under soft skin. He pads over to where they stacked their clothes, dripping water, and Geralt watches the muscles move under his skin, gaze lingering on that perfectly firm ass and strong thighs. There are faint bruises of his own fingerprints there, barely visible in the dim light of the candles, and if Geralt didn't know how serious Jaskier is about his songwriting, he'd follow him, put his mouth over them and leave behind dark, purple marks where his fingers gripped Jaskier just a few days ago. Knowing Jaskier would only get pissed off, Geralt stays where he is and contents himself with simply observing Jaskier as he grabs a cloth to dry off and then pulls on his clean set of clothes. 

It's only when Jaskier has left, vanished out of sight, that he turns his attention back to Eskel and Lambert, who are both smirking at him.

"What?" he asks gruffly.

"Nothing," Eskel says.

Lambert's grin gets more lewd. "I understand why you're obsessed with him," he says. "A pretty sight, your bard."

"Lambert," Geralt growls.

"What? I know he's yours. Just saying, if he wasn't, I wouldn't mind getting my hands on him."

Geralt growls again, more threatening, and Eskel cuffs Lambert over the head.

"Stop it, you idiot," he chides. 

"Why? It's a compliment. Fuck knows why someone as pretty as Jaskier wants an old grump like Geralt," Lambert argues and it earns him another slap, though Geralt isn't sure he deserves that one, because he agrees. He isn't good enough for Jaskier and he's proven that time and time again by fucking up, and sometimes he wonders why Jaskier stays at his side.

"Sometimes I wonder why people don't punch you in the face more often," Eskel mutters exasperatedly. 

"Fuck you," Lambert says and tries to pull Eskel into a headlock, but Eskel dodges him. There's a bit of a tussle, which Geralt wisely stays out of, before they settle again, this time with more distance between them.

"Jaskier's doing better though, huh?" Eskel asks after a moment of silence. "Think you'll go back on the Path soon?"

Geralt sinks a little deeper into the hot water, contemplating. "I don't know," he admits. "Eventually. I want to spend some time with Ciri and Yen first when they get here, and a bit more time at the keep can't hurt Jaskier."

"You can't shield him forever," Eskel says gently and Lambert makes a noise that Geralt thinks is agreement. "Don't let him withdraw from the world. He's not going to be happy here forever."

"I know that," Geralt says, gritting his teeth. "But it's his choice."

"Can't imagine him not out there performing," Lambert says and snorts. "He's an annoying little shit, but he's damn good."

"Hmm," Geralt hums and smirks a little. "Didn't know you were such a fan."

Lambert splashes water at him, but it doesn't make it all the way across the pool. "Fuck you, you know what I mean. Gods know why he sings _you_ of all people's praises, but it's certainly improved all of our lives."

"You think he should be singing about you?" Geralt mocks.

"I'd make an excellent subject. You're a grumpy old asshole."

"You're a prick," Geralt replies.

"Maybe he should be singing about me then," Eskel chimes in. "Seeing as I'm the only nice witcher."

Geralt snorts. "As if."

"No, I think you're right, Eskel. You'd be a better choice. You should try stealing him away from Geralt," Lambert says.

Geralt glares at them.

"Hmm. Looks like someone is a bit possessive," Lambert mocks. 

"I'll show you possessive," Geralt growls and charges across the pool to the sound of Lambert cackling.

*

"Sorry for the way I ran out on you all earlier," Jaskier says when Geralt joins him in their room. He puts his quill down and closes his notebook as Geralt drops his dirty laundry down onto the pile with Jaskier's.

"Is fine," he says and nods at Jaskier's lute, still on his lap. "Don't let me interrupt."

"You're not. I got the idea I had written down, I can work more on it later," Jaskier says and sets his lute down before getting up. "I think this one is going to be good. Apparently three naked witchers in a pool are very inspiring."

Geralt waits until Jaskier is close enough to him and catches him around the waist, drawing him close against him. "You better not be writing a song about Eskel and Lambert naked," he mutters and noses Jaskier's neck, nipping at the soft skin at the bottom.

Jaskier lets out a quiet laugh. "Oh? Does that mean I can write a song about _you_ naked?" 

"No," Geralt says firmly and lifts his head to meet Jaskier's eyes. 

"Ah, too late. I have at least five songs about that already," Jaskier teases.

Geralt narrows his eyes at him and Jaskier grins, patting his shoulder. 

"Don't worry, I won't sing them in public," he assures. 

"Jaskier," Geralt growls, more show than serious.

"I'm not to blame! I can't help it that you have some very song-worthy features, witcher," Jaskier argues. Geralt growls again, a deep rumble erupting from deep in his chest, and he tugs Jaskier close, holding him against him.

"If you ever sing a song about my cock in front of anyone, Jask," he starts.

"You'll what?" Jaskier challenges and laughs. "And who says they're about that? Your ass, my dear, is quite spectacular as well."

Geralt huffs. "You're a menace," he says.

"Be nice or I _will_ write a song about Eskel, Lambert and I in the pool together," Jaskier warns playfully. 

"Don't," Geralt murmurs. "You're my bard."

For a split second, Jaskier looks surprised, then he breaks out into a smile. "That's possibly the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Hmm."

*

Just as Geralt expected, the snow starts melting soon, the days getting longer and warmer. There's rain interspersed with sunny days that turn the ice into slush.

To Geralt's surprise, both Lambert and Eskel decide to wait a little longer before heading out.

"It'd be nice to see Ciri. Just for a week or two," Eskel says and Lambert gives a nod.

"She'd like that," Geralt admits. He doesn't say it, but he likes the thought too, having everyone here. Having Ciri at Kaer Morhen with him last year had been almost perfect, but he'd missed Jaskier, worried that what he broke between them on the mountain was beyond fixing. Jaskier's absence in his life had felt like a dark, gaping hole he didn't know how to fill.

Now, as winter draws to a close, Geralt is feeling like things are finally good, everything coming together. He doesn't dare hope that it will last—they never do. But just for a little while he wants to enjoy what the next couple of months will bring. 

Jaskier, though, gets quieter. 

Geralt sighs when he finds him sitting on the windowsill in their room, staring out at the heavy rain with a gloomy expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, coming to a stop by Jaskier's side. 

Jaskier glances at him before turning his attention to the rain outside. "Just thinking about a few things," he says.

Geralt hums, waiting for Jaskier to elaborate instead of pushing.

"Spring is coming," Jaskier says with a wistful sigh.

"Yes," Geralt says.

"Yes," Jaskier repeats and sighs again. "I don't think I like changes very much. Isn't it a shame how we can't stop time? Make things stay as they are when they're so blissfully wonderful?"

Geralt cocks his head to the side, choosing his next words carefully. "Jaskier. We can stay here, for as long as you need," he says. "We don't have to return onto the Path anytime soon."

Jaskier tilts his head towards him, the smile on his face brittle. "Thank you, dear. But it's quite alright," he says. "I'm just being a bit… morose. Things will be fine. Different, but fine."

"There's still time," Geralt reminds him. "We'll spend some time with Ciri and Yen here first. We don't have to think about what comes after just yet." 

Jaskier nods shakily. "Of course," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

*

Yennefer contacts Geralt via a xenovox less than a fortnight later, letting him know she and Ciri will portal as close to Kaer Morhen as the protective magic around the keep will let her in three days' time. They'll be a day's worth of traveling away from the keep still and Geralt plans to meet them and guide them the rest of the path to Kaer Morhen.

The day he is set to leave, Jaskier gets up with him at sunrise, looking rather gloomy, and follows him out to the gates of the keep instead of saying goodbye inside.

"I'll be back in two days. Three at the most," Geralt promises. "You'll be safe here with Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir."

"I know," Jaskier says, not looking any happier.

"Do you want me to send Eskel or Lambert out to meet them?" Geralt asks cautiously. He didn't think this would be a problem, though Jaskier felt at ease and safe enough at Kaer Morhen that he would be okay with Geralt leaving for a few days. 

"Of course not," Jaskier dismisses. "I'm fine."

"Jaskier."

"You promised to meet them and I know you missed them," Jaskier says. "Go. I'm okay."

"Hmm."

Jaskier sighs, tugging his cloak a little closer around him. "I promise. You overprotective lug of a witcher," he says.

Geralt grunts, a smile tugging at his lips. He tugs Jaskier closer by the cloak, leaning in to kiss him. It's brief and chaste, but then Jaskier leans in, presses against him. Geralt should be setting out, but he lets himself be derailed for a few moments, kisses Jaskier deep and slow and thorough.

When they break apart, Jaskier's lips are puffy and his cheeks stained pink, his expression somber. His clean, sweet scent is tinged with the sour note of sadness and Geralt's chest feels too tight, unsure what to do.

He needs to get going, but leaving Jaskier behind like this makes something painful and awful squeeze at his heart. "I'll be back soon," he says. "You're safe here."

"I know. Don't you worry about me," Jaskier replies, with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm just not looking forward to sleeping alone again."

*

Despite Geralt's efforts to only be gone for one night, it ends up being two. He doesn't make it as far as he had hoped the first day, the trail muddy and slippery, and he sets up camp when darkness starts falling. He gets up at dawn the next day and trudges on and the sun isn't very high in the sky yet when he sees two figures in the distance.

A smile tugs at his lips and there's an ache in his chest. He's missed them, Ciri especially, and he hadn't realized quite how much until now. When he finally reaches them, he pulls Ciri into a tight hug, holding on for a few long moments.

"Ciri," he breathes and she squeezes him back tightly. 

His hug with Yen is shorter, but just as heartfelt. 

"How is everything?" Yennefer asks.

"How is Jaskier?" Ciri corrects and Yennefer smiles indulgently.

"He's good. Kaer Morhen has done him good," Geralt assures them. Ciri looks relieved and Geralt knows how much the guilt of what happened to Jaskier has plagued her. "He's been composing a lot and I've been training with him."

"Training?" Yennefer echoes, her grin teasing. "For fuck's sake, Geralt, please don't tell me you've given your bard a sword. I fear for all of your safety if you did."

"He prefers a dagger," Geralt replies. "Pretty good with it too." 

"Hmm. That's less worrisome, I suppose," Yennefer says. "There's less damage he can cause with one of those."

"You'd be surprised," Geralt replies with a snort, thinking of the many mutilated straw dummies that Jaskier has been responsible for this winter. He turns to Ciri. "And how are you? Tell me about all the new things Yen has taught you, Ciri."

Ciri brightens and Yen and Geralt share a smile as she starts chattering excitedly.

*

"Is he really doing better?" Yennefer asks quietly, her and Geralt sitting side by side by their campfire. Ciri is fast asleep, curled up in her bedroll.

Geralt hums. "Why would I lie about that?"

Yennefer cuts a glance at Ciri and Geralt frowns.

"I wouldn't lie to her. She'd know when we get to the keep and meet Jaskier anyway," he says. "He's been doing alright. He still has some nightmares, but he sleeps well most nights. Put on some weight and muscle, too."

"Good. That's good," Yennefer says, sounding sincere. "And you and him?"

The meaning behind her words are clear and Geralt frowns at the flames licking up. "I didn't know you were aware of that," he admits.

"Oh please. I have eyes. Even when you and I were involved, Geralt, there was always something there. Not even the bond the djinn created between us could alter that," Yennefer says. "You begged me to save his life regardless of what it would cost you the first time we met."

"I didn't beg," Geralt argues.

"But you would have," Yennefer points out, sounding a little smug. "Why do you think he and I didn't get along? We both wanted you to ourselves and neither of us could have that."

Geralt draws in a sharp breath, not sure how to tell Yennefer that things between him and Jaskier are different now. That he wants this with Jaskier and that means there can't be anyone else, especially not Yennefer.

"I told him he wouldn't have to share me anymore," he finally says and glances at Yennefer. "I'm sorry." 

Yennefer huffs and she looks a little hurt, but not surprised. "We're not good for each other. In fact, we're terrible for each other," she says. "I'm not sure I could ever trust my feelings for you. If I'm honest, if it wasn't for the djinn binding us together, I don't think I would feel so drawn to you. Nor you to me."

"I'm sorry," Geralt repeats.

"Don't be. I think we've both known this thing between us is over for a while now. We're better off being friends," Yennefer says. "And I sometimes wondered. If you were to choose between me and Jaskier, who you would pick. And I think I always knew the answer deep down."

Geralt isn't sure she's right. It had been easy letting himself be consumed by Yen, dragged into the whirlwind that was their relationship. And he hadn't _wanted_ to love Jaskier. 

"I like him," Yennefer adds. "I don't understand him and he's a nuisance and I don't understand how you can spend so much time with him and not go mad, but I'm strangely fond of him regardless. He's… interesting. For a human."

"Hmm," Geralt says, smiling a little. "I suppose that's why you've been selling him those potions that keep him so young."

Yennefer raises a sharp eyebrow at him. "Those were business transactions. I do not have to like a customer, as long as they pay me sufficiently," she says. "I didn't know you were aware of that."

"I'm not blind either, no matter what you both may think. I know what kind of businesses you run and he stopped aging around the time we first met you," Geralt points out. "Add to that that he sometimes reeked of magic for days after we ran into you. Wasn't hard to put things together."

"You don't disapprove?" 

"It's his choice," Geralt says. "As long as it's not dangerous."

"No. I wouldn't poison him," Yennefer says primly. "I could take you in a fight, Geralt, but it would still put a damper on our friendship if you tried to run me through with a sword because I hurt your little pet bard."

"I don't think it's me you have to worry about if he ever finds out you called him that."

"Ha. What could he possibly do to me?" Yennefer says teasingly. 

"You'd be surprised by how painful it is to sit through one of his tirades when he's truly mad at you," Geralt says with a huff, and Yennefer laughs quietly. 

*

Geralt expects Jaskier to be relieved upon his return to the keep, to be _happy_ , but the gloominess still sticks to him and his smile is a little less bright, a little less easy. He waits until everyone has greeted Yen and Ciri, something warm settling into his chest as he watches Jaskier draw Ciri into a long hug, before he pulls Jaskier aside.

"Everything okay?" he asks in a murmur, slipping an arm around Jaskier's shoulders.

"Of course," Jaskier says, and his smile looks forced.

"Jask," Geralt admonishes quietly, studying him. Jaskier looks tired and there are circles under his eyes that weren't there when Geralt left. "Did something happen? Nightmares?"

"No. I'm fine," Jaskier brushes him off. 

Geralt grunts, displeased but not wanting to push Jaskier. 

The tension around the table that evening is undeniable and it keeps building to the point where Geralt expects someone to snap sooner or later. The raised eyebrows and pointed looks Geralt sends Eskel over dinner are met with a confused shrug. 

Jaskier excuses himself early, claiming he's tired. Seeing how exhausted he is, Geralt doesn't even think it's a lie. 

"Ciri, I think it's bedtime for you as well," Yennefer says when Jaskier has gone.

Ciri frowns, a huff falling from her lips. "I'm not tired. And it's not late yet anyway," she says. "I'm not a kid who has to go to bed at sundown."

"Ciri," Geralt says quietly. "Please?"

Ciri looks like she wants to argue, but then she deflates. "Fine," she says. "You keep your secrets from me. You already _lied_ so you might as well."

"Ciri," Geralt says helplessly under her accusing glare.

"You said he was fine," she bites back.

Geralt sighs. "He _is_ fine. He's just tired," he says. "You'll see. He'll be in a chattier mood tomorrow."

Ciri doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't argue. Geralt gets up and pulls her into a hug.

"He's fine," he murmurs into her hair quietly. "And none of this is your fault. Don't worry about it."

Ciri nods against his shoulder, but she's tense in his arms and Geralt almost feels like they're back where they started last summer when they decided to split up. When Ciri was eaten up by guilt over Jaskier's state and Jaskier was quiet and sullen and withdrawn. Geralt strokes Ciri's hair.

"He's fine," he repeats, not sure if he's trying to assure her or himself.

*

"You said he was fine," Yennefer says. "That's hardly fine, Geralt."

"He was," Geralt argues and looks at Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir. "Did something happen?"

Eskel shrugs. "He was pretty glum the entire time, but he said he was fine."

"We figured he was just pining because you were gone," Lambert says. 

"Well, Geralt is back and he still looks like someone broke his darn lute," Yennefer says. "And you saw how upset Ciri was over it, Geralt."

Vesemir clears his throat. "Perhaps instead of sitting here, talking about him, you should rather be talking _to_ him, Geralt," he suggests. 

"I tried," Geralt says.

"Then try again," Vesemir replies, not unkindly. "Something is obviously going on with him. And he's your responsibility, Geralt, has been since you allowed him to walk the Path with you." 

Geralt nods. Vesemir is right—Jaskier might have pushed his way into Geralt's life, but Geralt let him. He let Jaskier into his life and into his bed, and he might have repeatedly told Jaskier to go away, but he sought him out as often as Jaskier sought him out. He headed towards Oxenfurt in the spring, strayed from the Path when he heard rumors of Jaskier's whereabouts, followed him to courts even when there were no contracts for him there. He's the one who initiated their first kiss and countless others since. He strayed and let Jaskier stray, but he pulled Jaskier back in as much as Jaskier always came back to him.

Jaskier is his responsibility. Because Geralt wants him to be. Because he's _Geralt's_.

*

Jaskier isn't in bed yet when Geralt enters their shared room. Instead he's sitting on the windowsill again, one leg drawn up, temple resting against the glass. It seems to have become one of his favorite spots in the keep recently, sitting there and staring out at the world morosely. The fire in the hearth is roaring and there are candles lit around the room. It'd be cozy if it wasn't for the fact that misery rolls off Jaskier in waves.

He watches Geralt silently as he approaches, face not giving away anything. Geralt doesn't stop until he's right in Jaskier's face, until his hands can reach for Jaskier and tug him against his chest. 

"Thought you were tired," he murmurs.

"I am," Jaskier says and he sounds it.

"Didn't sleep well?"

Jaskier makes a non-committal noise and shrugs. 

"This is the wrong time for you to lose your words, bard," Geralt mutters. 

"What do you want me to say?" Jaskier asks, his tone bleak.

"I told you we don't have to return to the Path," Geralt says. "Jaskier, if you're not ready, we'll stay longer."

Jaskier lets out a quiet sound. "That's not it," he says quietly. 

"Then tell me what's wrong," Geralt says. "Tell me how to fix it."

Jaskier huffs a small, humorless laugh. "Not everything can be fixed, darling," he says. "Sometimes things suck and people get hurt and there's nothing they can do but live with it. And hope that it gets easier with time." 

"What hurt you?" Geralt asks and winces. "I know what did. But things were so much better. You were doing alright."

Jaskier hums. "I got so used to this," he says. "To you and me and how things have been. It's hard to let go of. It'll take time." 

Geralt swallows thickly. "Why would you want to let go of this?"

 _I thought things were good_ , he wants to say. _I thought we were good_. 

Jaskier had seemed happy with him. Geralt has been trying to make him happy, to be the kind of partner Jaskier deserves and he felt like things between them had been going pretty well. For both of them.

Jaskier sighs and wrings his fingers together nervously. "Yen…," he starts.

"What about Yen?" Geralt prods.

Jaskier presses his lips together and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Jaskier."

"I'm not going to hold you to what you said on the way to the keep," Jaskier finally says after a moment of hesitation. "About… you and me. And her."

"What?"

Jaskier's shoulder's slump and he's staring at his lap, mouth twisted in a sad smile. "I realized that it wasn't very fair of me to ever ask that of you. I was a mess and you wanted me to be better."

"So you think I lied?" Geralt asks and takes a step back, eyes narrowing. "Really, Jaskier?"

Jaskier looks up then, eyes wide and pleading. "No. Darling, that's not it, I swear. But I think I could have asked a great many things of you at the time and you would have given them to me. But I'm better now and it's not fair to hold you to what you said when I wasn't," he explains. "I won't ask that of you."

"So what? None of it counts now? You want me to go fuck Yen?" Geralt snaps.

Jaskier winces, a hurt look passing over his face. Geralt can see his eyes getting wet, his bottom lip starting to quiver. "I love you, Geralt. I love you so terribly much," he says in barely more than a whisper, as if he's telling a secret Geralt wasn't aware of. "I just want you to be happy."

"Even if it makes you unhappy."

The thought makes Geralt's heart ache. He knows Jaskier loves him, but apparently Jaskier doesn't know Geralt loves him, too. That Jaskier's happiness is more important to him than his own as well, but more than that, that Geralt wants this. 

Jaskier sniffs and shrugs. "Yes," he says. 

"You're an idiot," Geralt says gruffly.

Jaskier wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "What?" he asks, looking and sounding confused.

"I do not regret what I said on the way here, about it being only you and I if that's what you wanted," Geralt says. "I would make the same promise now if you asked it. And if you don't, it wouldn't change anything. Yen and I are over, Jaskier. I want _you_ , nobody else."

"Geralt," Jaskier says, his voice cracking.

"Fuck. I thought you knew that," Geralt growls, suddenly mad at himself as much as at Jaskier for doubting this. 

"I guess sometimes it's hard to believe you might be getting what you want with me," Jaskier murmurs, looking down again and sniffling some more. Geralt sighs and steps closer again, until his chest is pressed to Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier turns his head, hides his face against Geralt's collarbone. His scent is lighter now, the heaviness of sadness still there but less oppressing. Geralt cards his fingers through Jaskier's hair, frowning when he feels Jaskier starting to tremble, his sniffs becoming more frequent.

"Jaskier," he soothes.

Jaskier lets out a quiet pained sound, almost a sob. "I'm not sad," he mumbles wetly, words muffled against Geralt's shirt. "I just. Oh, I don't know. A bit overwhelmed."

Geralt hums and keeps running his fingers through silky soft hair, which has gotten a little longer than Geralt has ever seen it over the winter, all wild and messy. He lets Jaskier cry on his shoulder, holding him, and wonders how long Jaskier has been stewing over this, if it's been mere days or something that has been on his mind for longer, building up. 

When Jaskier has quietened down, he shuffles around a little, rests his cheek on Geralt's shoulder, his warm breath hitting the side of Geralt's neck. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, dear. Please don't be too cross with me over this whole mess." 

"I'm not," Geralt says. His earlier anger has all but dissipated, forgotten the moment Jaskier was in his arms again. He's as much to blame for this as Jaskier. "Jask."

"Yes?" Jaskier murmurs and lifts his head. His eyes are still wet and rimmed red, his cheeks smeared with tears, and Geralt thinks he's never seen anything as painfully pretty.

"I love you, you fool of a bard," he says, and huffs out a laugh when a fresh wave of tears wells up in Jaskier's eyes.

*

The words are on the tip of his tongue that night, running through his head over and over again as he presses Jaskier down into the mattress. He thinks them as he kisses Jaskier, licks into his mouth and slips his fingers under his shirt. He thinks them as he presses his mouth to Jaskier's scars, while working oil-slick fingers into Jaskier's body. Thinks them as he rolls Jaskier over onto his belly, as his lips find his neck, teeth scraping over delicate skin as he sinks into Jaskier. He thinks them as he thrusts into Jaskier, over and over, until Jaskier has lost all words but Geralt's name, moaned and cried out and whimpered. 

"Jaskier," he says later, curled up together, his mouth brushing again sweat-damp hair at Jaskier's temple. 

"I know," Jaskier says, and Geralt hears the smile in his voice. 

*

The atmosphere in the great hall is tense when Geralt and Jaskier come down for breakfast the next morning, but nobody says anything beyond a muttered good morning as they sit down. Ciri is still looking miffed, sending little glares Geralt's way, and Jaskier seems to be doing his best not to meet anyone's eyes.

"You can stop looking at me as if you're waiting for me to break down. Everything is fine," he finally says, not looking up from where he's dripping honey onto his porridge. His cheeks look a little pink, his mouth turned down in a sheepish frown. Under the table, Geralt spreads his legs apart so his knee bumps against Jaskier's. 

There's a heavy silence around the table, and Jaskier's shoulders slump. He finally looks up, making a face. "There was a bit of a misunderstanding. We worked it out," he says, sounding embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I caused any problems or made any of you worry."

"We're all assuming it's Geralt's fault anyway," Lambert grumbles with a shrug. Geralt glares at him.

"Well, it wasn't," Jaskier says. "It was mine and I'm sorry."

"But everything's fine now?" Ciri asks, studying Jaskier.

The smile Jaskier sends here is small, but genuine, and warmth settles in Geralt's chest. 

"It is," Jaskier confirms. "We talked and worked it out. I'm sorry I was in such a mood yesterday. I didn't even properly welcome you, did I?"

"You can make it up to me," Ciri says with a small grin. "I've heard bards at court sing your songs. I would love to hear the originals."

"That can be arranged," Jaskier agrees, his posture loosening its stiffness. "Yennefer, how will I make up my rude behavior from yesterday to you?"

"Ah, a private concert sounds good, actually," Yennefer says, eyes glinting, and she ignores the way Geralt narrows his eyes at her in warning. "I hear you've written a song or two about me in the past."

Jaskier's smile becomes strained. "Ah, but I fear I seem to have completely forgotten the lyrics to those, I'm afraid. Terribly sorry," he says with fake cheer.

"Hmm," Yennefer hums, looking amused. "I'll think of something else then. Perhaps a chat, after breakfast?"

"Depends. Do I need a bodyguard?" Jaskier asks.

Yennefer snorts. "No. No bodyguard needed," she says and sends Geralt a smile he can't decipher.

*

Geralt only briefly glances at Jaskier and Yennefer when they join them in the courtyard, before focusing all of his attention back on Lambert, their swords clashing together with a clang as Geralt blocks Lambert's move. 

It's only when Lambert's sword clatters to the ground and Geralt has the tip of his pressed to his chest that he takes a step back and looks at them again. 

"Want to join us, Jaskier?" he calls, lowering his sword, already thinking about which daggers he could pick for Jaskier and Ciri to teach them some more.

"Maybe another time," Jaskier replies. He shifts on the balls of his feet, looking vaguely nervous.

"Let's switch, Geralt," Yennefer says, the smile on her face slightly menacing.

"You know how to use a sword?" Lambert asks, tone mocking.

"I'm alright," Yennefer replies. "But most of the things you fight don't have swords anyway, so this will be good practice." 

Geralt can't deny that she has a point, but he still groans as he steps back. "Please don't fucking kill each other," he says and then pauses. "No maiming either."

"I'll try," Yennefer says, looking gleeful as she passes Geralt. 

Geralt shoots her a warning look before walking over to Jaskier's side. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Jaskier says and then grabs Geralt's hand, giving him a tug. "Come inside. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Geralt frowns but follows Jaskier without question. He doesn't look upset or hurt, though there's a slightly nervous energy rolling off him. Jaskier leads them inside and up the tower into their room. He lets go of Geralt once they're inside, running a hand through his hair as he spins around, a nervous smile on his face.

"What?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his lower lip between his teeth and then plucks up a small pear-shaped vial with a dark blue liquid inside from the table behind him. "Yen says you know about this."

"Hmm," Geralt hums and jerks his chin up. 

Jaskier huffs out a laugh and nods. "She didn't think you did, but I figured there was no way you didn't know," he admits. "You can fucking sniff out how people feel. Of course you'd know."

"Jaskier," Geralt says. "It's none of my business."

"Oh, but it is," Jaskier argues. "I… well, I don't want you to not be okay with this."

"Why are you taking it?" Geralt asks, curious about Jaskier's reasoning. He has his suspicions, but Jaskier has never been predictable. 

Jaskier grins wryly. "You know how vain I am," he says and Geralt hums. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed and Jaskier looks hesitant for a moment before he joins him, sitting down by his side.

"I hated the thought of you outliving me," Jaskier admits. "Of me growing old. Useless."

"Jask," Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier lifts his eyes to his, his mouth twisted. "I want so much, Geralt. I want _everything_. I'm greedy like that," he says. "I don't want to be left behind."

Geralt reaches for Jaskier's hand, squeezing it tightly in his. "I couldn't," he says. He could have at first, those first few years, but not anymore. 

Jaskier gives a jerky nod. He holds the vial up, shaking a little. "Yen figured out a way to make it more potent," he says. "It would last a while. A couple of decades before I would need the next potion." 

Geralt's hand tightens around Jaskier's even more, his mouth feeling too dry. 

Jaskier meets his eyes, holds his gaze. 

Geralt wants to tell him to take it, but he can't. He knows it isn't his place. It's Jaskier's decision, Jaskier's _life_ , and he can't tell him what to do. He can only hope. He _wants_ Jaskier to take it, wants to keep him in his life. To not watch him age and die, while he lives and has to learn how to go on without him. Jaskier is wrong—it's Geralt who is greedy and he wants Jaskier like this by his side for as long as possible.

Jaskier licks his lips and nods, as if Geralt replied. He pulls the stopper out of the vial and before Geralt can ask if he's sure, he brings the vial up to his lips and tips it back, swallowing down the contents. He pulls a face, coughing a little.

"Oh, that is _disgusting_ ," he says, mouth turned down in a sour frown. "Fucking mages and their fucking potions."

Geralt's heart is thudding in his chest, louder and faster than he is used to. He snorts out a laugh and hauls Jaskier in, cupping his face as he pulls him into a kiss, licking the remnants of the potion off Jaskier's lips, not stopping until they're both breathless.

*

The room looks tidy in a way it hasn't in months. The books that have been lying around are sitting in a neat stack on the desk now, furs have been folded and put away, their things packed. Jaskier's lute is in its case, leaning against the wall next to Geralt's swords. Geralt checks his potion bag one final time and he's just closed the buckles when he hears the soft pads of Jaskier's steps. He turns his head, watching Jaskier emerge from behind the small partition that shields the tub from the rest of the room, the smell of lavender and cedarwood heavy in the air.

Jaskier is stark naked, running a cloth over his hair, his skin pink and damp. He pauses when he sees Geralt.

"Oh. Why didn't you come join me in the bath?" he asks. 

Geralt's gaze lingers on Jaskier's body and he doesn't bother to hide his interest, taking his time to enjoy the sight Jaskier makes. "Hmm. Because you would have distracted me and we should head to bed early tonight, get plenty of rest."

"Ah," Jaskier says and gives Geralt a crooked little grin, hanging the damp cloth over the back of a chair. "I suppose I should put on some clothes then. Be less distracting."

"Too late," Geralt murmurs and stalks over to Jaskier, catching him around the hips. He pulls Jaskier against him and Jaskier goes willingly with a small laugh. 

"What happened to your unyielding self-control and willpower, witcher?" he teases. 

Geralt ducks down and noses the side of Jaskier's neck, breathing in the scent of his soaps and oils. He slides his hands around Jaskier and settles one on the small of his back while the other grazes over his ass. "Never had much of those around you," he says, pressing a kiss to Jaskier's pulse point.

"Right, yes. It took me nearly two decades to worm myself into your bed. Another few years to get you to commit to a relationship," Jaskier says with a huff. 

"I would have bedded you the first night if you'd asked," Geralt replies, pressing kisses to Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier tangles his fingers in Geralt's hair and tugs.

"Oh, you liar."

"Not lying," Geralt replies and lifts his head. He kisses Jaskier's temple and then lets his lips rest against the spot. "Would have. If you'd offered."

Jaskier groans. "Geralt. I walked up to you and told you there was bread in my pants. What did you think that was if not an offer?" 

Geralt huffs. "I don't know? I thought you were just fucking weird. And an idiot." 

Jaskier swats Geralt and wiggles out of his arms. "Unbelievable," he says, throwing his arms up. Then he puts his hands on his hips, looking indignant. "And I'm not weird. Or an idiot." 

Geralt bites back a grin and doesn't point out that Jaskier looks a little bit like both at the moment, standing naked in front of him, his feathers ruffled. 

His lack of reply doesn't seem to be working in his favor either though, because Jaskier's eyes widen and he puffs out his cheeks. "Geralt of Rivia," he exclaims, tone warning. "You're about to be in deep trouble. The 'you can sleep on your bedroll on the floor' kind of trouble." 

"Hmm. Let me make it up to you," Geralt offers, his voice a low rumble. He takes a step closer, eyes falling down to Jaskier's cock, soft and pink. He sinks down onto his knees and feels a little smug when he hears Jaskier's sharp intake of breath.

"You can try, I suppose," Jaskier says and Geralt hums. He puts his hands on Jaskier's hips and draws him in. 

He already knows they won't be getting enough rest tonight after all. But that's fine. They can take it easy tomorrow, set up camp early. He doubts Jaskier is in any more of a rush to get down the mountain and join the rest of the world again than he is.

*

Jaskier's step falters briefly, just once, when the first houses appear on the horizon. Geralt doesn't stop, but he slows down and he slips his hand into Jaskier's, the other one wrapped around Roach's bridle.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and Geralt doesn't have to look at him to know he's squaring his shoulders. 

"I'm good. I'm ready," he says firmly.

Geralt squeezes his hand silently. "Hmm."

"I have a whole slew of new songs to perform after all," Jaskier continues. "About the wolves of Kaer Morhen and their fearless cub and the mightiest, craziest sorceress on the Continent."

"And about their bard," Geralt reminds him. 

"Ah yes, let's not forget about him," Jaskier agrees. "I hear he's quite something."

"Hmm. He is," Geralt confirms.

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" Jaskier asks, head tipped to the side. "There are monsters to kill and songs to sing. Adventures to be had, my dear witcher."

"And trouble for you to start."

"Eh, probably," Jaskier agrees dismissively and smiles. "I've got you to protect me after all."

"Always," Geralt promises. Jaskier's smile grows softer and he tightens his grip on Geralt's hand for a brief moment. 

"Then I'm ready, dear heart," he says. 

**Author's Note:**

> Other places you can find me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/whispered_story) | [tumblr](https://whispered-story.tumblr.com/)


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